


Ordinary Men

by RiaRose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Good Boyfriend Steve Rogers, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Humor, M/M, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Canon Compliant, One chapter contains more detailed sex, Redeemed Howard Stark, Team as Family, Time Travel, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 102,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23693494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaRose/pseuds/RiaRose
Summary: "Aren't you at all happy to see me?" Howard shot back, holding his glass out and pointing with his index finger. At Steve's stony face, he dropped his arm. "Want a glass?" he tried, picking up an empty tumbler, "This is good stuff.""Tony doesn't skimp on - well - anything. And no, thank you.""Was that Tony?" he queried, gesturing toward the hallway the other man had disappeared down. Steve nodded but didn't give any more information, so Howard repeated his earlier question, "Aren't you happy to see me?"It took Steve a moment to answer. Howard could see his jaw working. "No, not anymore."ORIn which Howard travels to the future and just messes up everybody's day, Steve is conflicted, and Tony is a piping hot mess, as per usual. It's not going to be easy, but Steve and Tony have to somehow navigate through Howard's arrival and the strain it puts on their relationship.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 344
Kudos: 537
Collections: Avengers as Family





	1. You've Got A Lot of Nerve Coming 'Round Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It's me, ya gal.
> 
> I know I have an AU in progress but for the moment, my muse isn't cooperating with that one. This is spilling out like Kudos did, though. So, woo and yay for a new story!
> 
> I hope you enjoy and please, don't look too closely at the magic Howard uses, LMFAO.
> 
> Also this is canon divergent, you could say, as I live in 2012 quite happily. It's not canon compliant after Avengers. 
> 
> Much thanks to my betas: Lan, Desdeamona, and Musicalla. Also all the love to the friends who cheer read and listened to me spew out ideas for this.

Tony was upside down on the couch. It was just his way, Steve knew, but he still thought it was weird. It didn't mean Steve loved him any less, of course. On the contrary, his adoration was deepened by Tony's little quirks. He was so unashamedly himself that it was hard _not_ to love him. Steve admired him. He admired him and he loved him with every single fiber of his being.

But he still judged him a little, sometimes.

"Comfy there, Tony?" Steve asked, bent over with his head tilted so he could look at Tony the right way. Tony looked up at him with a wide, cheeky grin.

His legs, stretched up the back of the couch with the knees bent over the top, kicked up and down comically, "Very!"

Chuckling, Steve stood up straight and tapped a box in his hands, "Fury sent this. It's from the Smithsonian."

Tony picked his head up at that, watching as Steve sat next to him, "Oh, yeah?" He made no move to right his body. Steve had to remind himself oftentimes that that man he loved, while an absolutely brilliant engineer, genius, and billionaire, was actually an adult. It was _adorable_ , his quirks and personality - though he would never say that to Tony's face - but yes, he was indeed a real adult. A superhero. A visionary futurist. And 100% out of his mind. Which was one of the many reasons he had fallen in love with him to begin with.

"Yeah," Steve said, patting Tony's stomach and causing the genius to wiggle and laugh.

"Stop that!" With a squeak, Tony batted Steve's hand away and protectively placed his own over his rather ticklish tummy. Which was, of course, just one more thing to endear Steve to him. Who would guess that Tony Stark was ticklish?

"Sure you want me to stop?" he teased, tucking his palm flat under Tony's hand and on his stomach. He inched up under his t-shirt. In answer, Tony just smirked and scooted his legs further apart, no longer bothered by the tickling.

Steve jiggled the box with his other hand, "Or I should just open this up."

"You could open me up!"

Snorting, Steve sent a harassed look at Tony, "Didn't we do that this morning?"

Tony's arms flailed out to the side, one smacking down on Steve's upper thigh, and his head fell back against the bottom of the couch, "That was _hours_ ago."

"Aren't you the least bit curious?"

Tony was quiet for a moment, his inquisitive nature warring with his lust. "Ah, fuck," he relented, squirming around in an attempt to right himself on the couch. Steve looked down at him, a fond and amused expression on his face.

He honestly wouldn't change a thing about Tony Stark, not one single thing.

"Need some help?"

"I got it-Ack!" Tony could be so graceful. It was natural, and Steve envied it. The way he flew in the suit, how he walked without it, he was like a sleek cat. And sometimes, like any cat owner could tell you, he was a mess. His legs flopped over, and he rolled off the couch, landing flat on his side at Steve's feet in an undignified heap. He looked up sheepishly. "10/10 would fall again."

"I mean, while you're down there…"

"You're hilarious," Tony complained, sitting up and climbing onto the couch to sit next to Steve, right side up. He smiled devilishly, startling Steve with a yell, " _What's in the box?!"_

Steve jumped and glared, "Tony!" But Tony wasn't done. The next yell came out sounding hysterical; no one could say Tony Stark couldn't act.

_"WHAT'S IN THE BOX?!"_

"What in God's name are you doing?"

Tony grabbed Steve's upper arms and shook him, _"What's in the booox?!"_ He punctuated each of the elongated vowels of the last word with a shake.

Steve had no idea what Tony was doing, but just watching had him in a full body laugh, head thrown back and stomach hurting with the gusto of it, "Tony!"

Releasing him, Tony snatched the package, "Gimme!" Steve let him. It wasn't like he could ever say no to Tony, not with things like this anyway. Tearing it open, Tony plucked out a plastic bag and ripped off the top, dumping what was inside into his hand. "A pin?" It was small, circular, with a pallet knife and a paintbrush crossed in the middle. Around the outside it said _Artist Club - George Washington High School._

"Hey!" Steve started with a pleased look, "That's my old pin!" Tony gave him a confused look and Steve explained, "I was part of the art club, one of the only things I could do."

Tony's face softened, "I love your art."

"Thanks," Steve spoke softly, reaching out to take the pin, but he changed direction, noticing a laminated sheet of paper that was also in the box, and picked that up instead. "It's a letter," he said, reading quietly, "it's from your father!"

He could see Tony's eyes darkening and let the hand closest to Tony rest on his leg in comfort as he read aloud. _"'To whom it may concern, should I pass before Captain Steve Rogers is found, please see to it that this pin is returned to him. Whether alive or dead, it belongs with him. Signed, Howard A.W. Stark.'_ Huh."

"Seems an odd thing," Tony commented, "to hold onto."

"It's dated May 29th, 1988."

"Thinking about anything else, even on my birthday," Tony's voice was quiet, hurt. "At least he's predictable."

Steve leaned over and gently kissed his head. It had taken six months of dating Tony to break through his walls enough to understand why he hated his father, and another six to come to terms that the man he had known had vanished sometime before Tony was born and after Steve had gone. Reconciling between the two had taken another three months, but Steve had a pretty firm grasp on it at that point. He had been with Tony for nineteen months. He knew first hand the damage Howard had caused, but he also knew just how resilient Tony was. Howard had done good things in his life, nothing could take that away from him, but he also had caused a lot of harm. Steve was surprised at the hatred he felt now when he thought of his old friend. It only increased the love he felt for Tony, to have withstood the abuse and all the trauma he had endured in his life and still come out a good and kind person… Thinking about it made Steve fall in love with him over and over again.

"1988." Steve spoke again after a long moment. "You were eighteen?"

Nodding, Tony took the letter, glancing at the header with the date and then down at Howard's signature. He looked like he didn't recognize it, as if everything about Howard was a mystery to him. And - Steve supposed - everything was.

"Momma, she, uh, had a cake made. Three tiers, eighteen layers in all. Vanilla cake with chocolate frosting and mocha filling, my favorite. He didn't show. I blew out the candles with just her and Jarvis and Ana. The next day he went to get some cake and complained - loudly - that he hated this flavor and why would anyone get it?" Steve listened as Tony spoke, as always tempering the anger he felt when Tony mentioned the abuse and casual neglect he faced growing up in that household. He slowly ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Tony's head, a small comforting gesture.

"He didn't deserve you," Steve said evenly. "He didn't deserve you at all."

Tony just shrugged, "Doesn't matter. They made up for it," he said, indicating his mother, Jarvis, and Ana. "It wasn't all bad."

The visceral reaction whenever anyone even said the name Howard spoke otherwise, but Steve didn't mention that. Instead, he finally reached out and took the pin from Tony's hand.

The flash of light was instantaneous and almost blinding.

\---

Howard Stark knew science. He knew things that were absolute. He _didn't_ know magic. But he did know it existed.

Maybe he shouldn't have toyed with it. Maybe he should have just walked away when he learned the conditions of the spell. That the time he was looking to go to depended on when the person next touched the enchanted object, or that there was no guaranteed way back home.

But the idea was enticing.

He had spent sixteen years searching for Steve Rogers with no headway; it was infuriating.

Three candles were lit on his makeshift altar: a white one for cleansing, a purple one for dispelling negativity, and a black one for protection and to give power to the spell. He had traveled to Egypt to gather sand, to Israel for a vial of water from the Dead Sea, to Scotland to gather earth, and to Japan to pluck a feather from a Red-Crowned Crane. He anointed the altar with sage from India and olive oil from Italy. All things said to give the spell more power.

In the middle of the altar, placed in an abalone shell, was Steve's last gift to him. A pin from his youth, something given as a token of friendship just weeks before he disappeared into the vast cold of the Arctic.

Laying his hands over the shell, Howard spoke, _"Tunc non coarctat me: non faciam. Quaeretis me et in illo unam ipse fabulator."_

Time does not constrain me, only I do. Take me to the one I seek and let time tell the tale itself.

A forceful breeze rustled the curtains, sending papers and sage rolling across the floor. The book that held the spell whipped through its pages, and the candles blew out with a finality.

Left in darkness, Howard let his hands fall to his sides.

It was done. Life would move on in linear time until Steve held the pin in his own hands once again. Then the rubberband of the universe would snap back and overlay it all. He would be pulled from this exact moment, changing the course of his life most likely, and charged forward, creating two parallel lines, one that did exist, and one that would.

He didn't think too closely at that. Didn't feel himself being split as the future took shape and Steve Rogers took the returned pin into his hands and completed the connection. One part of him would loop, back and forth, and the other would vary the shape of his life in the form of a spell.

Time split in two. And the Howard on the side of the spell was pulled by his navel and tossed through time, landing in a flash of light at the feet of two men, although he only had eyes for one.

\---

Steve blinked furiously, his eyes dotted with white spots, and he squeezed his lids closed. He moved to raise his hand to rub the spots away but found it anchored by Tony's hand gripping his bicep. The gravity of what happened clicked in not a moment later and he shifted quickly, standing and blocking Tony from harm, his instinct clicking in full force.

Of course it probably would have gone better had Tony not been still holding him in a vice grip, but the point was made. _You don't have the suit on, stay behind me._ Tony would yell at him later, that was for sure. Something about not being a damsel in distress or along the lines of _I can damn well take care of myself!_

At the moment, he only cared about clearing his vision enough to properly assess the situation. And keep Tony safe.

It was the strangled " _Steve!"_ that caught his attention. The voice was familiar. But it wasn't Tony's.

He blinked again, free arm still raised defensively, finally getting a clear look at the figure in front of him, who must have been the reason for the flash.

He was expecting a monster, some alien lifeform sent to wreak havoc on the city. He was not expecting Howard Stark, looking a bit older than he remembered but still kneeling on the floor of the living room like he had been there all along.

The hand on his arm was gone, and Tony was bolting from the room. Steve barely had time to react before Howard was throwing his arms around him and whooping in excitement. "It worked! It worked!"

At some point, right after Steve had woken up, he would have been overjoyed to see a face from his past, especially this one. But at that moment, Steve could only let his eyes follow Tony's escape as he jerked free of Howard's exuberance and chased after the fleeing form of his boyfriend. "Tony, wait!"

"Rogers!"

Steve turned briefly to Howard, "Just, crap, stay there! Don't move!" And he was back to running down the hallway, following the sound of the slamming of Tony's suite door. He keyed in his code and was inside before Tony made it halfway across the room.

He spared no thought to leaving an apparent time traveler in their living room. If that didn't speak volumes of his love for Tony, nothing did.

"Sweetheart?"

Tony turned to face him, eyes wide and searching to make sure Steve wasn't followed. His threw his arms out in fear and confusion, "What the fuck?!"

"Tony," Steve began again, stepping closer, "Hey, it's okay…"

"I'm sorry! I panicked, okay?!"

"Hey! Hey," he consoled, pulling Tony into his arms, "it's all right."

"No, no, it's _not_ all right! That is _not_ Howard fucking Stark standing in the living room!"

Steve didn't know what to say. He tilted Tony's head up and kissed him lightly, holding him for just a few moments until Tony's heart started to slow its rapid beating.

"We'll figure this out, okay?" he finally spoke, rocking them softly in comfort. "Stay here, I'll try to get some information."

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Tony mumbled into Steve's chest.

Steve shook his head, "I don't know. Hey," he pulled back, keeping his hands on Tony's shoulders, "why don't you take a bath, relax, maybe do some reading? You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to."

Tony nodded, a small miniscule movement that told Steve all he needed to know about his current mindset, "Okay."

"Let me go talk to him. Just give me some time to get to the bottom of this."

\---

Howard watched Steve's retreating form with an affronted look on his face. This was certainly not how he had planned on meeting Steve again. He didn't know who the other man was, he'd barely gotten a good look at him either, but he must have been important for Steve to take off like he did.

It took all of ten seconds before he was exploring. Steve had said to stay, not that he couldn't look around. He needed to know when in time he was to begin with, and knowing exactly where he was, well, that was pertinent information as well. He _was_ a scientist.

He started with the shelves to the left side of him. They were oak, tasteful even to his (unknowingly) classic predilection, and stained a dark and rich red. They were filled with books and framed photographs, knick knacks, and mementos. Each style of each decoration so varied he couldn't discern if the decorations were that of one person with diverse likes or many people with individual preferences. A large framed photo in the middle caught his attention.

Six figures, obviously in the aftermath of a battle, stood staring out toward the camera, combat weary and dirty, but proud. A large green thing in the back - a bit frightening to be honest; a beautiful redhead who looked just as dangerous as Howard liked them; a red and gold robot with glowing eyes; a man clenching a bow with his arrows just barely visible on his back; an imposing man wielding a huge hammer with long blonde hair; and Steve. In his full Captain America uniform, cowl pushed back, shield hanging from his hand. It was a newspaper clipping, taken from what Howard could guess as the front page because of its size.

**New York's Heroes:** _Avengers Assemble!_

A small blurb on the bottom right of the picture read: _Alien invasion thwarted by band of superheroes, including Captain America (far left) and Iron Man (center). Details page 4_.

He could just read the date almost cut off at the top. May 5, 2012.

Howard stepped back. This was a lot of information from one picture.

For one, it seemed Steve had a new team. Two, apparently a massive battle had taken place in New York, and three, he was either in 2012, or sometime after, depending on how old the clipping was.

_2012_. Jesus fuck. He was at least fifty years into the future. Turning, he glanced out the large windows behind the couch. There was a lengthy landing pad, judging from the markings on the paved surface and bizarre shaped plane sitting there, and beyond that, a vast and intimidating skyline. Where the fuck was he?

The glass of the window was cold under his hand, the heat from his body creating a foggy outline. "Where-" he couldn't finish his question. It was all a bit overwhelming. Maybe he really didn't think this through enough.

"You're in Manhattan." A voice behind him said. Wheeling around, Howard took in the man before him. It was Steve, all right, but his hair was shorter, and he wore denim dungarees and a white short sleeved shirt. Aside from black socks on his feet, he was barefoot.

"This is Manhattan?" Howard asked, stepping closer to Steve. The soldier took a step back and Howard froze. Something was wrong here.

"Today's date is March 21st," Steve answered instead, "2014."

"2014," Howard mumbled. "That's a long way to travel."

"Why are you here, Howard?"

He winced at Steve's tone, "That sounds accusatory."

"That's because it is. Why are you here?"

Howard threw his hands up in aggravation, "Looking for you!"

"You've done a lot of asinine things, but this? How? How did you get here? What are you playing with, Howard?" Steve snapped, and Howard didn't like how angry Steve was making him feel. He had searched for too long, had loved the man like he was family. He didn't like being fearful. This was how the Nazis must have felt coming up against him. This was Captain America, not Steve Rogers.

"It-it was a spell," he stuttered out his response, "connected to your artist pin. Once you held it again, I'd be brought to you."

"A spell?" Steve's arms, which had been folded across his chest, fell in disbelief. "A spell? Are you serious right now? Have you _any_ idea how much damage you could have irrevocably caused?"

"I wasn't thinking of damage! I was thinking of you!"

"No!" Steve yelled, stepping closer, his body language full of fury, "No! You were thinking of yourself! Which is what you _always_ do!"

Howard's mouth dropped. "What? Where is this coming from?"

"You selfish, egocentric-"

"Hey!" He fought back, just as loudly, "What the fuck, Rogers? Do you know the trouble I went through to get here? I needed to know you were all right! And look at that! You are! _How incredibly selfish of me to be so concerned after you plunged into the damn Arctic!"_

"Don't you turn this on me! You're messing with time! That's dangerous!"

"It was worth it!" Howard screamed. "I've spent the last sixteen years searching for you! I needed to know!" He deflated, just a bit. "Maybe it is selfish, but someone I admired and considered a friend went down in a damn plane _and I couldn't find him_. I knew, Jesus, I knew you were alive! I just had to know."

Steve's body relaxed marginally. He wiped a hand down his face. "I was frozen. I was found. I was thawed out. Now you need to go home."

"When?"

"What?"

Howard moved over to the bar, sucking in deep breaths to calm himself. Screaming was getting them nowhere, "Mind if I have a drink?" He didn't wait for an answer, just walked behind the counter and grabbed a glass. Picking up a bottle and studying it, he said, "When were you, uh, thawed? Was it?"

The switch in demeanor was quick, meant to throw Steve off his guard. It worked enough that Steve answered, "About two years ago."

The bottle of scotch looked safe enough and Howard poured himself two fingers worth. "You didn't age."

"I was frozen."

"Cryogenics? Or environmental hypothermia? Fascinating."

"Howard, what are you doing?"

He should have known, but sixteen years was a long time, and Howard had forgotten just how stubborn Steve could be. "I told you, Steve, I needed to know. And I found a way. Don't you see? It worked!"

"You shouldn't be here."

Howard took a long drink. Pulling the glass back and giving it an appreciative look, he raised his eyebrows. "That's fucking delicious."

"Howard," Steve warned.

"Aren't you at all happy to see me?" Howard shot back, holding his glass out and pointing with his index finger. At Steve's stony face, he dropped his arm. "Want a glass?" he tried, picking up an empty tumbler, "This is good stuff."

"Tony doesn't skimp on - well - anything. And no, thank you."

"Was that Tony?" he queried, gesturing toward the hallway the other man had disappeared down. Steve nodded but didn't give any more information, so Howard repeated his earlier question, "Aren't you happy to see me?"

It took Steve a moment to answer. Howard could see his jaw working. "No, not anymore."

"What did I do?" Howard's voice was quiet, reserved. All of this - how Steve was acting - it could only point to one thing. Howard wasn't an idiot, not by a long shot. He knew that these reactions could only be because he had somehow fucked up, done something he hadn't yet to make Steve Rogers hate him. It had to be bad to get this type of reaction. Something cracked inside him, and Howard felt sick. He placed his still mostly filled glass onto the bar. "Tell me what I did, Steve." He asked again, his tone subdued.

"I can't do that, Howard. You know that."

"Why not?" Howard asked, some gusto back into his voice.

"Because things have happened that have made people-" Steve paused, obviously regrouping, "-that made things a certain way. You change anything and it could change the entire course of the world."

Howard looked unconvinced, "I don't see how anything I do could change the world that drastically."

"That's the problem," Steve asserted, "you have no idea what you had."

Howard was speechless for a few moments, "Steve," he spoke at last, "I don't know what I did, but I _am_ so sorry."

Steve didn't look convinced, but his face softened, if only a little. "Howard, you need to go home."

"I didn't expect this," he confessed, "I expected to find you and, I don't know, I guess have a happy reunion?"

"Howard," Steve repeated again with a deep breath, " _you need to go home._ "

Howard's answering laugh was hollow. "You know me, I go in guns blazing. I don't usually have an exit strategy. I just hope something will come to me."

Steve's body went rigid, "Tell me you know how to get back." When Howard didn't answer right away, Steve let a burst of air blow through his lips in exasperation, "You don't, do you?"

Howard at least has the decency to look a little ashamed, "I thought it would make a fun adventure."

"Aw, hell, Howard. You have no idea the trouble you're causing, do you?"

And that was the problem, wasn't it? He really did have no idea.

\---

Steve returned to Tony's suite to find him asleep on the bed, his head where his feet should be, and the television on. He was curled up in one of Steve's sweaters that he had shamelessly stolen, his hair still damp from the bath he had taken. At least he had tried to relax and succeeded too, if the peaceful look on his sleeping face was any indication. But Steve knew Tony better than that. Sleep was an escape, and if he was out at only half past four in the afternoon, he knew Tony had to have been exhausted.

Seeing your dead father would do that to anyone.

He smiled softly as he scooped Tony into his arms and turned him the right way on the bed, the blue pajama bottoms falling over Tony's bare feet as he was lifted.

"Steve?" Tony mumbled, his eyelids fluttering tiredly.

"Shh," Steve consoled, his voice barely above a whisper, "go back to sleep." Gently, he laid Tony down at the head of the unmade bed and tugged the covers over him. Tony's eyes popped open, but Steve lightly placed his hand over them, tempting Tony back into dreams. "Rest, Tony. I'll make dinner."

Tony wasn't swayed, his voice, raspy with sleep, asked, "Howard?"

"He's in the living room. I gave him a book and a bottle of scotch and told him to keep his nose clean." Tony snorted at that, and Steve was hard pressed to smother his own grin. "I also called the others and filled them in. They're on their way. Nat should be here within the hour. They'll keep him busy. I think I have someone more important to be with, don't you think?" He moved his hand to cup Tony's face and kissed him lightly.

"And don't you forget it." It would have been sassier, but a yawn halfway through just made him look more adorable than a partially asleep Tony Stark should be, and that was saying something.

"Go back to sleep. There are pork chops defrosted, so I'll make something with them."

Wiggling under the blankets to get comfortable, Tony asked, "Why is he here?"

"I promise, we'll talk when dinner is ready."

Tony eyed him skeptically, "You're procrastinating because you need to gather your thoughts, huh? Come on, you can say it. Not a weakness."

Steve chuckled, "No one knows me like you do."

"Uh huh. Genius, remember?"

"Sleep, you pest."

Tony stretched and rolled over into his stomach, bringing his right leg partly up and clutching the pillow. It was how he slept when he didn't have Steve to curl up against. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, "gather your thoughts. Just tell me he's going back to whatever fires of hell he came from." His eyes closed.

Instead of responding, Steve just kissed Tony's head and stood, unsure of how to answer that. "Dinner will be ready in about an hour, give or take."

Tony cracked an eye open, "All right then, keep your secrets."

"I promise, over dinner, Frodo."

That startled a laugh out of Tony; he always enjoyed when Steve referenced his favorite things. "I know. I love you, Sam." He could wait another hour, Steve knew. If anything it meant he could ignore the situation for just a little longer. Tony wasn't the only one well versed in his boyfriend's thought processes.

"I love you too." Steve answered quietly, slipping from the bedroom and leaving the door cracked.

It wouldn't be an hour, Steve knew Tony better than that. But he'd take all the time he could get to process this. It was a lot for both of them.

\---

Nat came in through the vents. She wasn't the least bit ashamed, Steve and Tony would understand the need for secrecy. She had to observe first, to see in the flesh what Steve had told her over the phone.

It was hard to believe in theory, but the man seated on the couch looked a hell of a lot like Howard Stark. It was an easy thing to prove. She just needed some DNA, and Bruce could test it against Tony's. Not that she didn't believe Steve, she just never judged anything at face value.

With his nose buried in one of their discarded Starkpads - and Natasha knew he really shouldn't be looking at that if he was who he said - she was able to quietly swing down and snag his abandoned scotch glass before swinging back up and making her way to Bruce's lab.

She left the glass, with a hastily scribbled note, on his work bench, and made her back to the living room. Bruce was en route, having been in Westchester picking up a few chemicals he needed that had to be retrieved in person. Depending on traffic, she knew he'd be back sometime after dinner.

Howard was on the couch where she’d left him, still fussing with the Starkpad. She settled against the grate to watch; he didn't seem dangerous. But as the saying went, looks could be deceiving.

Natasha was a spy, she prided herself on noticing things about people. Maybe she didn't know all the details, but she knew Howard was an awful father. She could easily pinpoint the neglect, and there was evidence of physical abuse, but without hearing from Tony himself, she could never know the full extent.

Steve had been open about his relationship with a younger Howard: an intelligent, eccentric man who risked his life to save others. That it was also an adventure wasn't lost on either of them.

She sighed and quietly reopened the grate, dropping down soundlessly. It was time to entertain their guest.

"Howard Stark," she said, flopping onto the couch next to him, acting for all the world like she had zero training and was a woman who just so happened to stumble upon a man out of his own time.

He managed to conceal his surprise, which earned him a few points in Natasha's book. "Well, hello there, gorgeous."

She bit back a retort, instead plucking the Starkpad from his hands, "You shouldn't be on that."

"What is it?" He asked, one eyebrow arched.

"Technology far too advanced for someone from the sixties."

He gave a short laugh, "Fair enough. That you over there?" He gestured with his chin toward the photograph he had studied earlier.

She didn't even have to look to know what he was referring to. "Yes."

Another eyebrow arch. "You know my name, may I be privy to yours?"

"Natasha."

"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman," he grinned, leaning toward her, his eyes dancing flirtatiously.

She scowled. "Back up, Stark."

"Oh, a challenge! I like that in a woman." When she didn't even crack a smile, he continued on, nonplussed, "So, why does it seem like everyone hates me here? Seems impossible. I'm a pretty great guy."

"We're not usually fans of people who threaten everything we know."

"See," he argued, "both you and Steve seem to think I wield some great power to completely alter your world."

"You're a smart man, you do the math."

"And the other guy," Howard exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, "Tony or Tommy, or whatever, he ran as soon as I came into the room. What am I? A leper?"

She grunted, "Firstly, that's a dated term. Secondly, _Tony_ has his reasons. Leave him alone and _leave him out of this._ "

"I sense a protective streak, Natasha. A lover of yours?"

"No," she said smugly, "but if you don't back off the questions about him, his actual lover is going to rip your balls off."

He was taken aback by that, she could tell. His body recoiled slightly, his face twisting. "That sounds like a threat."

"That's because it is."

There was no chance to answer. The elevator dinged loudly, cutting through the tense silence between them.

"Evening, Barton," she smirked, not looking away from the man seated next to her. Howard's eyes narrowed, and her grin deepened. He was off put by her knowing who entered without looking. Good.

"Hey, Nat, want to spar later?"

"After dinner. I'm hungry," she said, standing and stretching languidly. Sneaking a peak at Howard, she was pleased to see him tense and studying her. She didn't want him to peg any of her moods or movements. Best to keep him on his toes. _Child abusing bastard._

"Thor is off planet, and Bruce is getting back later, what do we want for nosh?" Clint asked, removing his coat and tossing it onto the armchair.

"No preference," she responded, shooting him an exasperated look and grabbing his discarded coat, "how hard is it to hang this up?"

Clint pointedly ignored her as she stalked to the coat rack by the door, instead turning to Howard for the first time, "Any food preferences, Asshole?"

"What did you call me?" Howard snapped angrily. Clint ignored the response.

Snickering, Natasha made her way back into the center of the living room, "I'll text Steve to see if he and Tony will be joining us."

"Not with Asshole around."

Howard shot up from the couch, "Now wait just a goddamn minute-"

"Hey!" Clint raised his voice, pointing at Howard, "Assholes don't speak unless they're farting." Howard was shocked silent. _Score one for Barton!_

"That was crude, even for you," Natasha laughed, entertained regardless of the maturity of the humor. Even if no one else appreciated Clint's mouth, she sure as hell did.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she popped off a quick text, Clint reading over her shoulder.

"What's that?" Howard asked, his curiosity overriding his offence apparently. Damn, Tony was too much like him.

"More technology you can't be _privy_ to," she answered easily, mocking his words from before. The sass of the comment was covered by Clint making farting sounds, and she threw a disgusted look at him.

"Just speaking his language," he cheeked over his shoulder as he turned to the kitchen, "I'll get the menus." Howard sat again, his arms crossed petulantly.

Her phone beeped the incoming message and she called out to him through the doorway, "Steve's cooking for the two of them, think he wants to keep Tony away."

Clint whipped his cell out and tapped, her phone going off a moment later. "Really?" She glared at him, eyebrows raised.

He gave her a 'who me?' look and turned back to the drawer that held the takeout menus.

_This is the wrong type of asshole for Tony._

"Are you twelve?" She yelled back, moving over to the couch to sit again.

"Maybe," he emerged from the kitchen, "are you surprised?"

She plopped hard enough on the cushions to upset Howard's comfortable position. "Not really."

"Okay, enough!" Howard snapped, jumping up again. "I get it! Apparently, I turn into some jerk and you all hate me for whatever travesty of a crime I committed. _But I am not that guy yet._ At least I don't think I am. So can we stop with the nasty attitudes?" His body went slack, his anger diffusing into concession. "I don't know what I did," he pleaded, looking back and forth between them both, "but whatever it is must be pretty bad to have even someone I considered family angry with me." Pausing, Howard swallowed, visibly upset, "I just wanted to see Steve again. I'll work on getting home and be out of your hair. I'm… I'm just happy he's okay."

Natasha traded a look with Clint, a silent conversation born from their total understanding of one another. Clint sighed and blew the air from his lungs out in an audible whoosh.

"Okay, fine, but I'm still calling you Asshole," he paused for effect, "Asshole."

Howard threw his hands up placatingly, "I concede. It's fine. Just, enough with the hostile takeover, all right?"

"We can try for civil," Natasha said, taking the menus from Clint's outstretched hand, "but no promises for Steve and Tony. Bruce too, but he's more Zen than us in general."

"Zen?"

"Pick a restaurant," handing the menus to Howard, Natasha stood again, angling toward the bar, "I think it's time for happy hour."

Clint nodded enthusiastically, "Definitely. What about Thor?"

"He's affable enough," she quipped, lining up three clean glasses, "it's Pepper and Rhodey he has to worry about." She smiled widely at Howard at that, "Scotch or bourbon?"

"What's a Pepper?"

"A red head that might be scarier than me." The bottle she picked up clearly wasn't either scotch or bourbon, "I chose vodka."

Howard turned to look at Clint, but he just snickered, "She's _very_ protective of Tony."

"I don't even _know_ Tony!"

"That's the problem, isn't it?" He grabbed two of the glasses, each filled with straight vodka, it was about to be one of _those_ nights.

"Who is he?" Howard asked, taking the glass and choking down a large gulp; he was going to need it.

"He's very important to Steve. They're, uh, close. And you hurt him."

Natasha snorted at Clint's choice of words, "Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to, Howard."

"All I have are questions."

"Just pick a restaurant. Trust me on this." She wagged the bottle, "Need a refill?"

"You only just handed me this," Howard croaked. She looked disappointed.

"I'm surrounded by amateurs."

\---

Steve heard Tony moving around in the bedroom not twenty-five minutes after he started to cook, and when the sleepy, warm arms slipped around his waist from behind and he felt Tony's face pushed into his shoulder, he smiled. "Hey there, sleepy head." He had gathered his thoughts as best he could, knowing Tony like he did and knowing he'd be unable to wait the full hour.

Tony had more patience with Steve than he had with anyone else, but he was still Tony Stark. He still wanted answers, but he _also_ needed time to digest. He was similar to Steve in that regard, maybe in a different way, but it was the same need to have a few minutes to work through whatever was going on in his head. Tony just processed some things quicker.

"Ready to talk?" Tony asked, stifling a yawn.

"Just a sec," Steve replied, checking a pot and giving it a stir. "Alexa," he called out, "set timer for twenty minutes."

The electronic voice called back, "Timer set for twenty minutes."

Tony made a face, grumbling into Steve's back, "I hate that thing. That's what we have J for," he whined.

"I concur, sir. I am no fan of this Alexa." The AI spoke and Steve chuckled, it almost sounded like JARVIS was jealous.

"I swear she's not replacing you, JARVIS." He just loved the idea of artificial intelligence, JARVIS or otherwise and frankly he was lucky Tony didn't throw the thing out as soon as Steve had brought it home.

"You do realize, Captain Rogers, that I have the capability of ruining your life?"

Tony laughed loudly at that, "I love when you get all spiteful, J," he pulled away from Steve, turning to the cabinets to set the table, but Steve was having none of _that_.

"Uh-uh, c'mere," he grinned, tugging Tony into his arms. He came willingly, smiling up at Steve.

"What can I do for you, Captain Rogers?"

Steve leaned down, "You can kiss me." He knew Tony needed contact, and not just any; he needed to feel loved and appreciated without any obligation. Contact he never received from Howard. Until they were able to get his father back to his own time, Tony's mental health was probably going to be as up and down as the March weather. Steve needed to do what he could to stabilize it.

"Think I can arrange that," Tony chuckled softly, taking Steve's lips onto his.

Steve pulled back, his eyes warm, "I love you."

With an unmasked smile, Tony leaned up on his toes and kissed Steve's nose, causing the soldier to crinkle his face, "Love you too, now, can we talk about Howard?"

"Yeah, go set the table, I'll tell you what I know."

Tony griped, "That's what I was _doing_ before you just _had_ to kiss me."

"Oh, what a travesty!" Steve jokingly balked, turning to swat at Tony's ass with a dish rag, "Get a move on!"

"Hey! Watch the goods!" But it was nice to hear Tony laughing, who knew how much levity he would get over the next couple of days.

"It's spellwork," Steve began, pulling the pot he was stirring off the stove and setting it aside on an unused pot-holder. Tony gave him a quizzical look, and Steve shrugged and shook his head, "He used magic, Tony. It's connected to my pin. As soon as I touched it again, it pulled him forward through time to me."

"But why?"

"Because he was trying to find me? Why does Howard do anything? He's selfish, he doesn't think of the repercussions of his actions."

"Tell me something I don't know," Tony said, giving Steve one if his sassiest looks. As usual, Steve was completely unmoved; Tony's patented looks never really had any effect on him.

"That's a high task, Mr. IQ of 270." Another glare and Steve just looked satisfied. He continued, his tone seriouser than before, "He isn't an idiot, we know that, so he figured from the frosty reception-"

"-Ha! Frosty!"

"-He received that no one was very happy with him." It was another art form mastered: the art of ignoring Tony's interjections. "I didn't tell him," Steve reassured Tony, watching as his body tensed as he set out the plates, "that's up to you. But if magic got him here, it'll get him home most likely."

"I hate magic."

"I know," Steve offered, "but it is what it is. Maybe we can use this to our advantage? It might be nice to form _some_ sort of paternal bond with him, no?" He was grasping at straws, he knew it. Howard didn't deserve to have Tony as a friend. He didn't deserve forgiveness.

"I'll take a raincheck, thanks. The potatoes are boiling over."

"Oh, shoot!" Whipping around, Steve grabbed the pot holders and lifted them from the heat to place onto an unused burner. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked, retrieving the strainer from the cupboard and placing it in the sink.

Tony shrugged, "Don't know." Turning back to the table, he continued to set it while Steve drained the potatoes in a strainer in the sink.

"Guess that's fair," he turned to face Tony, "Will salty, buttery mashed potatoes help?"

Chuckling, Tony nodded, "Yeah, they'll help."

"Then go get me a stick and the milk."

Opening the fridge, Tony grabbed both items and handed them to Steve, "Here ya go, Paula Deen." He leaned against the counter, watching Steve hand mash the potatoes for a few minutes before speaking again, "What did he hope to accomplish? In coming here, I mean."

"I don't know, Tones. Even when I knew him, your father was always a mystery to me."

"That makes two of us. Think Bruce will have any ideas?"

Steve shook his head, "He's a science guy like you, I doubt he's dabbled in magic," he paused, "worth a shot in asking though."

"Could just unleash the Hulk on him instead." Tony said evenly, but with a glint in his eyes.

Pausing while adding more milk, Steve gave Tony a harassed look, "As tempting as that is, it could mean no you."

"Oh, well, yeah, no. That would be awful. I'm awesome. Can't have that!"

"God forbid," laughed Steve, stealing a quick kiss before banging the masher on the side of the pot to get the excess off. He tossed it into the sink.

Picking up a spoon and inching toward the mashed potatoes, Tony attempted to covertly steal a taste. Steve let him. "What would you do without me?"

"Probably live a less complicated life." The timer went off, and Steve cancelled it, moving to the oven to remove the pan. "They good?" He gestured to the potatoes.

"That sounds boring and monotonous, you know, a life without _moi._ And yes, they are."

Looking proud, Steve slid the tray of pork chops onto the stovetop. He turned and grabbed Tony's face with the oven mitts still on, "Exactly!" And nipped his nose before letting go and swinging back around to the stove.

"The fuck was that?" Tony laughed, rubbing his face where Steve bit.

Steve looked at him, face impassive, "Appetizer."

It was a ploy to distract Tony, Steve really didn't have much more information without speaking to Howard again, and he didn't want Tony to feel overwhelmed with the situation. The logical response? Obviously to get and keep him laughing.

Which was working. Tony's face went red, his hands clutching his stomach, and fell against the counter, gasping for breath and laughing so hard he started coughing. "App-Appetizer!"

Steve knew he really wasn't all that funny. But the tense situation had Tony unknowingly seeking any type of positive release. Regardless, seeing Tony laugh set his mind at ease. They'd get through this, one way or another.

"Bit chewy though."

"I'll show you chewy!" If Steve found himself with an armful of Tony, well, he considered it mission accomplished.

At least dinner wasn't _too_ cold when they finally got around to it.

\---

Howard was drunk. And Natasha realized she may have miscalculated in her attempt to make the situation better. Contrary to what Clint and Tony liked to say, alcohol _didn't_ always help.

Bruce had texted her an hour before to say he was comparing the DNA and that he wasn't ready to see his best friend's monster up close and personal just yet. It was probably a good idea. They didn't need the Other Guy coming out and showing Howard just how protective he was of his Tin Man.

Which left Natasha and Clint with nothing better to do than to drink and eat pizza with a rapidly intoxicated Howard Stark. Which meant - because of course it did - that Clint had to keep up, shot for shot. And Natasha got to be the reluctant babysitter. _Joy_.

She had been able to weasel a bit more information out of Howard before he tipped over from buzzed into sloppy and had sent it all through the Tower's secure email server to Steve and Bruce (with a CC to Barton who, despite technically being there to hear first hand, was unlikely to remember).

  * He was from 1961 (which they had surmised through his repeated mutterings of _I searched for sixteen years!_ but it was nice to get a confirmation).




  * He had received the spellbook from a high priestess of some super secret coven of sorts (read: stolen). Also, the abbreviation was now going to be SSSCofS, because _why the fuck not?_




  * He also let slip that he never wanted children. There was a change of heart at some point, obviously. But, it did nothing to save Tony from Howard's personal brand of upbringing.




  * He considered it his greatest mission to find Steve again. But Tony remembered him looking until the day Howard died, regardless of whatever this was, he didn't have any memory of it. Which was good, but also problematic.




Did they find a way to alter his memory? Or did something go horribly wrong? Or was Tony going to wake up the next day with a boatload of new memories?

There was not enough vodka in the States to deal with this. Russia, _maybe._ But not America. Which left her without any more questions at the moment, but also with two very inebriated men.

"This one time, in Cairo," Howard was standing on the cushions, "I challenged a Sheikh to a wine drinking contest."

"That had to have gone over well," Clint was giggling into his glass. Evidently, a completely wasted Barton was more open to the idea of Howard.

"We made it through nine bottles before I blacked out."

"Impressive!"

"In the morning, he made me an honorary member of his family. Said he's never seen a white man drink so much and not vomit!" He spoke with his hands, something that Tony did as well, but the combination of his exuberance in the storytelling and his drunken state set him off balance, and he tipped over the back of the sofa and out of sight.

Clint nearly pissed himself laughing.

"Howard!" Natasha yelled out, hopping to the back of the couch and peering over, "Are you all right?"

"Perfection!" He bounced back up. "Very cushy carpet. A+ design."

She let herself fall back into a sitting position, pulling her phone out and making a face. _Bruce! Need reinforcements! They're drunk!_

The reply came quick. _And who's fault is that?_

_Fine! I'll take full responsibility! Just get up here!_

_Results coming within fifteen. Let me meditate first._

_Meditate fast._

When she next looked up, tucking her phone back into her pocket, it was to see Howard wearing the box the pin came in as a hat.

"Save me," she croaked, and escaped to the kitchen. She had stashed a box of cookies in there _somewhere._ Out of vodka? Move on to sugar.

\---

The Other Guy knew something was up, and he knew it had to do with Tony. Bruce could feel his agitation. It was getting hard to concentrate, but the mass spec was beeping, and Natasha had sent him a task. A romp in the Hulk proof room was probably in order, especially considering the results that were printing out were most likely exactly what they already knew. Which would upset the Other Guy. Because it had to do with Tony. And Tony's father. Which the Other Guy had heard Tony lament about all too often.

"Of all the people to like," Bruce muttered to himself, "you choose the most complicated." It was true, but only half so. Bruce had a feeling that the Other Guy took to Tony not only because Tony was the only one not afraid of him off the bat, but also because _Bruce_ took to Tony right away. Partially for the same reason.

The engineer had made light of a serious situation, which in retrospect probably wasn't the smartest move a genius could make. But at the time, Bruce felt a sense of comfort and happiness that someone didn't feel afraid of him. Tony judged Bruce simply by his brain. Bruce was smart. He was as smart as Tony, maybe even more so, depending on who you asked, but Bruce didn't count the numbers like that. Tony knew things he could never and vice versa. They were both exceptional at different fields of scientific study. Tony didn't care that Bruce had a giant green problem, he only saw Bruce's intelligence. That's how he was judged the first time they met. For once, someone didn't shy away from him. They didn't cower in fear.

Bruce called Tony his best friend, and he didn't say it lightly. He also didn't say it often. Tony had Rhodey. And he had Steve now as well. Though, lover and best friend varied depending on who you asked, it was easy to see that Steve _was_ Tony's best friend. Bruce didn't want to assume that just because Tony was _his_ nearest and dearest that it meant he was Tony's. Even though the other man had never given him reason to doubt that Tony felt the same way.

They both knew what it was like to be alone.

And anyway, it wasn't like there was a rule saying that there was a cap on how many best friends one could have. This wasn't high school. But Bruce had been alone so long that it was hard to just let go sometimes and allow himself to be loved.

Hulk knew that. In his own way, Hulk loved Bruce fiercely. Like a parasite, maybe, but it was there. And he picked up on what Bruce was feeling, specifically anger, hence the whole issue to begin with. But Hulk also knew that Tony brought a sense of _home_ and _comfort_ to Bruce that he hadn't felt in a long time.

So was it really any wonder that the Other Guy decided that Tony was _his friend as well_? It worked out in everyone's favor. Ever since the Battle of New York, Hulk had saved Tony countless times. Most of the time, he was the only one capable. And Hulk wasn't exactly a _saving people_ kind of guy. He just liked to smash. And the Avengers let him.

No, saving Tony was all Hulk's idea. He was protective and maybe a bit possessive of Tony. It had been quite an issue when Steve started dating him, to the point where Tony had to sit in the indestructible Hulk room with the Other Guy for hours talking him down. Assuring him that just because he had entered a romantic relationship with Captain America, it didn't mean Tony would love Hulk (or Bruce for that matter) any less.

It ended with Hulk giving Steve a shovel talk that had the soldier actually afraid.

_Don't hurt my Tin Man. Or I smash._

Duly noted.

All of this was what made the whole Howard situation precarious. Hulk didn't like him by default, and him being with them _now_ meant that Howard had to be really careful about every move he made when Bruce was around. Any little thing could set him off. And smashing _this_ Howard meant no Tony.

_Eat your heart out, Marty McFly._

He caught the paper as the printer spit it out, reading quickly and heaving a long suffering sigh. A monster would have been so much easier to deal with. But it was there, in black and white. The DNA from the scotch glass matched Tony's on a paternal level.

Howard Stark had traveled to the future.

There was a quick internal debate as to who to call first with the results - Hulk chanting in his mind, _Tin Man! Tin Man!_ Because of course he was. But even though it was Natasha who asked, Bruce called Steve. He didn't know what Tony's mindset was at the moment, but he did know Steve could be counted on to best relay the information. And Tony _should_ know first.

Steve answered on the third ring. "Banner! What's up?"

"I, uh, did a test for Nat. Results came back." Bruce said, eyeing the paper just in case he got something wrong (he didn't).

"What test is that?" Steve asked, and his voice was sleepy. Shit. He had woken him up. A glance at the clock told Bruce that it was after midnight; Cap's normal bedtime was around eleven. _Old bastard,_ Tony's voice said in his mind.

"DNA results from a scotch glass she nabbed from Howard. Sorry to wake you, by the way," Bruce continued, "didn't realize the time."

"It's fine, don't worry," Steve was sounding more awake by the second. "DNA?" He paused, rolling the term over his tongue most likely, and trying to gauge just how much he knew about it. Bruce spared him the feeling of ignorance.

"It's a carrier of genetic information," he explained.

"I know the basics, sorry, but I appreciate you telling me. I have learned some things." The mirth in his voice set Bruce at ease that he didn't offend him. "My question is why?"

"Natasha wanted to make sure."

"No, right. That makes sense." Bruce heard the rustling of bed covers, "It was such a shock, we didn't think of it. That's," he paused again, "that's really irresponsible."

"Well, now you know if it ever happens again," Bruce said, not unkindly.

"I should hope not!" Steve laughed, a tint of self-recrimination audible around the edges, "What did you find out?"

"It's a bouncing baby boy. Howard, you _are_ the father!"

He could practically hear Steve rolling his eyes, "You've spent too much time with Tony."

"Likewise, I'm sure," he smirked in answer, sitting on the stool next to his Mass Spec. "The DNA is a paternal match. It's Howard Stark. In the flesh."

"Okay. So now that the science backs it up, what do we do?"

Bruce was afraid of that question because he honestly didn't know, "What do you think?"

"Well, I told you it was magic that he said got him here-"

"-And that's not exactly my wheelhouse."

"No," Steve sighed deeply, exhausted and not from being woken up, "not for any of us. Thor might know, but I'm not exactly sure this is any magic he'd be familiar with."

"Probably not, but when he's back, we can ask," Bruce proposed, "if anything, he might have some insight."

"In the meantime, Tony is going to need us to rally around him."

"He asleep?" Bruce asked, concerned.

"Out like a light," Steve remarked, "don't think he had much left in him after seeing Howard."

"I'm sure you still found time to roll around in the hay."

"Oh, come on!" He chucked in response, "I was comforting him!"

Bruce laughed outright, "We all play to our strengths."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Bruce took a minute to just snicker, enjoying a joke between friends. But there _was_ another concern, that being the drunk archer and the even more inebriated time traveler. And the fact that he had no interest in tempting the Other Guy by going anywhere near Howard Stark.

"So," he started with a lighter tone, knowing he was about to ask a lot, "Natasha kinda got Clint drunk. And Howard," he rushed through the words, wincing as he said them, "Clint and Howard. Smashed in the living room. They ate pizza. They drank vodka."

"Tell me you're joking."

"Wish I could. She needs backup, but you know the Other Guy; it wouldn't end well, and hey! You can tell her that Howard is Tony's father!" Bruce was trying for levity; he knew exactly what he was asking of Steve. Dealing with your boyfriend's drunk father was bad enough even without the added benefit of knowing he was essentially the root of all the emotional issues he had.

"Bruce," Steve was actually whining, "don't make me go in there."

"The Other Guy is agitated," he tried, dropping the humor and going for logic, "and he knows something is up with Tony."

"I really would hate to have to remodel again."

"Exactly."

"And I _am_ team captain."

"Precisely."

"Fine, but you owe me," Steve conceded, "Tony and I want that cheesecake you make."

Bruce wasn't about to mention that owing Steve apparently meant owing Tony as well, "Consider it made."

"And breakfast tomorrow morning," Steve added.

"Fine," Bruce sighed, "bacon and eggs. That's it. I have work to do."

"Throw in those pancakes you make from scratch, and we have a deal."

There was a lot to be said about them bartering food for dealing with a drunk time traveling father, but Bruce ignored it, "You got it."

"Pleasure doing business with you."

\---

The one flaw in the plan was that Tony was wrapped around Steve like a four armed octopus. It was cute, but it presented a problem in getting up. When he had first met him, Steve never would have guessed that Tony was a cuddler. Not even a little bit. But being _so_ touch starved for _so_ long (and no, random sex didn't count) meant that as soon as someone offered him love, Tony flung himself at it.

It scared Steve a little when he realized how easily Tony could have been taken advantage of. In that respect, at least, his media persona worked. No one tried to get close to him.

The moonlight fluttered through the curtains and Steve took a moment to just gaze at Tony. With his eyes closed and his body so curled up on Steve's chest, he looked absolutely innocent. Steve, of course, knew better.

There was no way he was untangling himself without waking him, so: he took the easy way out. Natasha could stand to wait a few more minutes anyway. _She had one job!_ All she had to do was keep an eye on Howard while Steve navigated through keeping Tony's head on straight. That's it. A few extra minutes was just teeny punishment. Tiny. Miniscule. Next time she'd think before feeding people vodka. Particularly of the time traveling variety.

And honestly, Steve could do with a little physical affection himself before facing a drunk Howard.

"Hey, babe," he murmured, sliding his hand down Tony's side, "Tony, wake up."

The answering grumble was adorable, and Steve felt a little badly at waking him. But as Steve's hand traveled to Tony's round behind and the brown eyes popped open, he knew he'd at least made one right decision.

"Oh?" Tony smiled up at him, "Feeling a little randy?"

Steve snorted, "Don't ever call it 'randy' again."

Tony sat up and slid his right leg over Steve to straddle him, "Feeling horny? Is that better? Because I don't think it is, but if that's what you want to call it-"

Steve cut him off with a kiss, pulling Tony's neck down to slot their lips together. "Shut up," he chuckled, flipping them over so he was on top and nestled between Tony's legs. Tony's answering laugh was interrupted with a moan as Steve grinded down on him. "Nat needs me in the living room."

"So, you woke me up, got me all hard and happy, and what? You're just going to leave a guy hanging?"

Sitting up and tucking his knees under himself, Steve dug his fingers into the waistband of the pajama bottoms Tony wore, "Nope. She can wait." And he pulled the bottoms off in one fluid movement.

"I was getting worried there," Tony laughed, letting his legs fall open. "Everything okay out there?"

"Don't worry about it, it's fine," Steve reassured, pulling his own pajamas pants off. Tony didn't look convinced, so Steve distracted him by pulling off Tony's shirt and then his own. "Shush, just let me love you."

"God, you're so cheesy," Tony grumbled, blindly searching through the nightstand for the lube.

Steve reached up and grabbed the bottle, batting Tony's hand away, "You love it."

"Is Howard okay?" There was real concern in Tony's voice and it made Steve pause.

He set the bottle down next to him and kissed Tony deeply, "He's fine, Tony, trust me. Nothing is wrong. He and Clint just chased a pizza with a bottle of vodka, apparently. Nat just needs help getting them to bed."

"Howard? Drunk? What? Impossible!"

Steve was losing him. This was a train of thought he didn't want Tony following. "Don't think on it, babe," he said softly, picking up the bottle again and lubing himself quickly. With an extra squirt from the bottle, he pressed one finger into Tony, slicking him and taking his mind from past memories of his drunk father to the present, where Steve was slowly sliding into him.

Tony moaned, his hands coming up to grip Steve's shoulders, "What? Ah- Fuck that feels good."

"Shh, baby, just feel me," Steve whispered, beginning to rock his hips in the steady motion he knew drove Tony crazy.

"I can do that." Bending his knees back against his body, Tony let out a small puff of breath, a soft moan trailing at the end of it. Steve kissed him once more before leaning back up to close Tony's knees against his chest, keeping his strokes, long, deep, and fast. It was an uncomfortable angle for him, but he was rubbing against that sweet spot inside Tony with every pass. This wasn't about him, Steve knew, this was about Tony. He had been the one to wake him just so he could go aid Nat, so his own pleasure didn't matter as much.

Not that it didn't feel good, because it did. Being inside Tony was exactly like what Steve thought heaven felt like.

The distraction was working. Tony ceased his talk of Howard and let himself fold into the pleasure, little moans each time Steve pushed back in and whiney breaths when he pulled out escaping his throat.

Steve splayed his hands on Tony's shins to anchor himself, holding Tony still as he brought him closer and closer to the edge. When the muscles started to tremble under his touch, he pushed Tony's knees apart and took him in hand, jerking him with quick, practised movements.

Tony came with a shout, a long yell of release that had Steve partially hoping it could be heard in the living room.

With Tony sated, he pushed his knees wide up and open, and thrusted, chasing his own climax and coming with a moan muffled by Tony's shoulder.

Tony kissed his head gently as Steve panted, "I'm okay with you waking me up to do that whenever you want."

Steve laughed, "Do I really need permission?"

"Eh."

Chuckling, Steve pulled out, eliciting a moan from the man underneath him, "Let me clean you up, and then I have to go save our sweet assassin."

"Sweet? What are you smoking? I want some."

Steve's laugh disappeared into the bathroom. He returned moments later with a wet washcloth and lifted Tony's legs to wipe his bottom and thighs before cleaning himself up as well.

"Go back to sleep, Tony," he said as he pulled his pajamas back on.

"I'm all wide awake now, who's fault is that?" Tony groaned, rolling over and exposing his gorgeous backside. Steve was tempted, oh, was he ever, to just crawl back into bed and worship Tony until the sun came up and cows came home.

Unfortunately, he was always annoyingly responsible. So, he just kissed Tony's head, grabbed his slippers from the floor at the foot of the bed, and left with a quiet, "Sleep, Tony," thrown over his shoulder as the door shut behind him.

He knew Tony wouldn't go back to sleep. Was almost positive he would stay in the suite, at least, to avoid walking past the living room and seeing Howard. But he wouldn't sleep. Not until he was sure Steve was done with Howard and back next to Tony in bed.

The muted sounds of the television drifted down the hallway, peppered with sparks of Howard's laughter and Clint’s light snoring. Steve moved slowly, not at all interested in facing Howard again. He had thought he was at peace with the man. Had thought his reconciliation between the Howard he knew and the Howard that hurt Tony was complete. But the sounds of his voice: his exclamations over the new technology, coming clearer with each step Steve took; the drunken chuckles he could discern between the flips of the channels… They ripped the scars back open. He had _missed_ this Howard.

But _God_ , did he hate the man he would become.

"Jesus, Rogers! It's about time!" Natasha snapped, pushing a sleeping Clint from her shoulder, "Bruce said you'd be right up!"

He watched as Clint rolled to the side, hitting the cushions with zero grace, "If that's how you treat your friends…"

"Oh, shut up." Ah. So not in the mood for jokes then.

"Having trouble, Agent Romanoff?"

"Ugh, they're annoying. I had high hopes Howard could keep up," she shook her head, "and he called Tony the disappointment."

Steve's head whipped over to see Howard, who was thankfully so engrossed in the television he hadn't even noticed Steve's entrance. "That's not funny, Nat."

"You're right, it's not. It's _hilarious."_

"Nat!"

She shrugged and stood, "Tony would have laughed."

"That's beside the point," but she was right. That type of dark humor was right up his alley. Usually. "Watch what you say for a few days, Natasha. Tony's not going to be thinking like himself until we get _him_ out of here."

She frowned, looking contrite. Hah. _Sure she did._ "I maintain the right to write down all the things I _would_ say to tell him later."

"And he'll probably throw you a party for showing that your sense of humor is as infantile as his."

"He's _your_ boyfriend," she shot back, walking past him and tapping his shoulder, "Tag! You're it, Rogers."

"Fantastic," he grumbled, watching as she left. As an afterthought, he called out, "And I love him for it!"

She waved her hand over her shoulder as she entered her room, an obvious dismissal. But his raised voice had finally drawn Howard's attention.

"Steve!" _Ah… Fu-_ "Where have you been!"

Steve turned to face Howard, who was looking rather lopsided at him. "All right, time for bed, Howard."

"What? No! The night's still young!" He attempted to stand. And failed.

"Not for you it ain't," chastised Steve, hooking his hand under Howard's elbow and steadying him. "There's a guest room, right off the kitchen. You can stay there."

"Guess it's been a day, hasn't it, Stevie?" Howard slurred, looking up at him, "You really hate me?"

"We don't have to talk about this right now, Howard."

"But do you? I mean, I went through all this trouble. I wanted to see you again," Howard's eyes weren't nearly as captivating as Tony's, but their pleading wasn't lost on Steve. He softened.

"I don't hate _you_ , Howard. I hate what you become." Howard was quiet after that.

The guest bedroom hadn't been used in a while and Steve's upbringing demanded he change the sheets on the bed. He propped Howard up at the kitchen island with a glass of water and two Excedrin and raided the linen closet for fresh bed-sheets. Howard seemed okay for the moment, so he dropped a blanket over Clint's sleeping form and left a glass of water with two more Excedrin next to it on the coffee table. He didn't want to deal with a hungover Barton. That never went over well.

In the guest room, he made quick work of the bed, and rustling through the dresser produced a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that looked like they'd fit Howard. It was all a hodgepodge of left behind clothes from SHIELD agents who had spent the night in the past. He was thankful for whatever he could find, the stuffy suit Howard wore wouldn't be comfortable to sleep in.

Not like he cared. Because he didn't.

"Howard," he called, "I have something for you to wear to bed." When no answer came, he popped his head out of the room, fully expecting to find Howard sleeping at the island.

But he wasn't. Howard was staring straight ahead, a confused look on his face.

In the doorway stood Tony, frozen. A look of panic freezing his features.

"Timmy! No," the elder Stark scratched his head, "that's not right. Tommy?"

Steve felt his heart drop, "Tony?"

"Tony! That's it!"

Steve breezed past Howard, coming to stand in front of Tony, "Hey, what are you doing up?"

"I thought, I don't know. I came to see if you needed help." Tony's voice was stiff, his eyes never leaving Howard.

"I got it handled, Tones, go back to bed."

Tony didn't listen to him, which was _shocking_ , of course. He moved past Steve, "What are you doing here, Howard?"

"Right, you don't like me either," in Howard's drunken mind, for whatever reason, this was funny. He laughed. "I'm the most hated man in- where am I again?"

"What are you doing here?" Tony snapped, more firmly, his voice had a desperate edge to it.

Howard threw his arms out to gesture to Steve, only managing to slide off the stool instead. He fell to the floor with a plop and promptly burst out laughing.

Steve lifted him easily, setting him onto his feet, "Come on, you need to sleep." They got as far as the doorway before Tony was screaming.

"W _HAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"_

"Tony!" Steve didn't know what to do. He couldn't be angry at Tony for feeling the way he was, but on the other hand, he was never going to get Howard to bed if Tony didn't stop yelling.

"Why is it that every time I think I'm okay, something, _something_ happens and you're back in my life?" Tony rounded the island, jabbing his finger into Howard's chest.

"I don't even know you!"

"Yes! You do! I'm your-"

Steve sighed in relief as Tony stopped short of telling him. "Tones, go to bed, or go to the workshop. Play fetch with Dum-E or something."

Tony huffed, his arms crossing over his chest. Which unfortunately drew attention to the arc reactor under his shirt.

"Hey, what's that?"

"It's nothing, Howard, come on," Steve steered him, turning into the room and pressing him to sit on the bed.

"He's got a blue light," Howard insisted, clumsily shrugging off his suit jacket.

"Howard, let it go-"

"-It keeps me alive," Tony spoke quietly, and Steve hadn't even noticed him come into the room. "Arms up," Tony said, lifting Howard's shirt off without unbuttoning it. He pulled off Howard's undershirt as well. "I'll get these cleaned for you," he said softly, tugging the clean shirt Steve had found over his head.

Steve sat back. Amazed at what he was seeing. Tony had every right to be angry. To be furious and upset. But there he was, gently getting Howard changed and moving him to lay under the covers.

He caught Tony's eyes, giving him a questioning gaze, but Tony just shook his head minutely. The meaning was clear. He needed this. Steve didn't understand why; he couldn't comprehend any reason for Tony to feel the urgency to care for his estranged - and dead - father. The man had neglected Tony. He had been cruel. And even if the physical abuse wasn't all that often, it _was_ there.

But Tony always did what he thought was right, regardless of how angry or upset he was. It was one of the reasons Steve fell so deeply in love with him. The media could spin things however they wanted, but Tony Stark had a moral compass that rivaled his own.

So, Steve didn't interfere.

When Howard was settled, Tony stood and moved to the door, beckoning Steve to follow, "Mr. Stark," he spoke quietly to Howard, his voice holding none of the contempt it had prior, "the bathroom is just down the hall. Second door to the right. Help yourself to whatever in the kitchen if you get hungry. We'll see you in the morning."

Steve slipped his arm around Tony's waist, giving him a squeeze to show how proud he was of Tony's actions. "Goodnight, Howard," he said.

"Goodnight, Mr. Stark," Tony turned, just a little, into Steve. Enough to to show he needed comfort, but not enough to be obvious about it. "J, get the lights."

"Of course, sir."

Steve would have been concerned, he wasn't too sure how much tech they should allow him to see. Especially tech that held the name of his butler, a fact that would make Howard suspicious of their connections to him. It was something that could lead him to learning exactly who Tony was, and if Tony didn't want that… but Howard was already asleep.

In the dark of the kitchen, Tony buried himself in Steve's arms.

-


	2. A Strange Parallel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During breakfast, Howard starts to put some pieces together. Tony is still a piping hot mess. But who can blame him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to my betas!
> 
> So this was initially going to be longer, but the chapter was looking to be about 17,000 words, so I had to cut it off. Good news is that I have a head start on chapter three!
> 
> I know this is a little bit of a slow burn, but I honestly can't see Tony just up and being okay with Howard being there. Tell me what you think in the comments. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Tony didn't sleep. Which honestly was predictable of him. He pretended to, of course, to appease Steve, and frankly - even awake - lying in Steve's arms was pure bliss. He waited until six before untangling himself, surprised that Steve was not yet awake. Even with all of the excitement the night before, he slept on.

Tony didn't want to disturb him.

Of course, he _should_ have known better.

"Babe?" Steve's sleepy morning voice was a favorite of Tony's. It was a bit deeper, raspier, and totally sexy. Tony felt a flush as his body woke up to the sound, but he really needed to tinker. He had too much in his head to work out.

"Just going to the workshop, honey-buns, nothing to see here." Tony slipped his robe on and walked back to the edge of the bed, "Go back to sleep, it's only six."

"Bruce is making us breakfast," Steve muttered, yawning and stretching.

That had Tony chuckling, "Oh, is he now?"

"Made a deal with him last night. Said I'd deal with the frat party if he used his culinary genius." Rolling over, Steve grabbed Tony's pillow and shoved it under his head. "Didn't say a time though."

Tony braced himself on the bed to lean down and kiss him, "Just text me when the chef shows up. I promise I'll come a-running."

"You okay?"

The abrupt change in topic almost set Tony off his guard. _Almost._ "I'm fine. Just need to tinker for a bit. Work some shit out this big ol' brain of mine."

"Love your big ol' brain."

"It _is_ pretty amazing," Tony preened, kissing Steve again and smiling into it.

"Brat."

"You know it!" He slid his feet into his slippers (and if they were Captain America ones, he was _totally_ unashamed) and grabbed his cell from the charging dock, "I'll see you in a bit."

"Mmkay."

He sounded much more awake than he should, and Tony inwardly groaned, "You're going for a run, aren't you?"

Steve hid under the blankets, laughing, "Maybe!"

"Gross," Tony curled his lips up in mock disgust, grabbing a throw pillow that had fallen off the bed to toss at the Steve shaped lump under the blankets.

"Wanna come?"

"That's not the type of coming I want."

It was Steve's turn to feign disgust, "I'm in love with a perpetually horny teenager."

"You can tap this ass later, my little chicken nugget, don't you fret!" Tony called over his shoulder as he opened the door.

Steve's head popped out over the blankets, "Chicken nugget? That's a new one."

"My little french fry!"

"Oh my god. _Bye, Tony!"_

Tony laughed as he shut the door behind him, but as soon as he cleared the doorway, his face fell. His little suite with its living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom was like a bubble. In there at least, he could be protected from the annoying and upsetting fact that his father was currently sleeping off a hangover in the guest room. But outside of it…

He felt off-kilter, like he was on a merry-go-round and no one was at the controls. Spinning faster and faster, unable to keep his eyes on a stable landmark long enough to not feel sick. It was dizzying. Frightening. All the insanity but none of the fun or music.

He hadn't felt so _wrong_ since the wormhole.

There, he had accepted his fate, gazed upon stars he had never seen before, and closed his eyes. At least the wormhole held a purpose. He was doing something right, sacrificing himself to save the lives of millions. This? This was nothing but a replay of every emotion his childhood trauma could throw at him. He felt like one of those big black garbage bags that landscapers used in the yard. He had too many sticks shoved inside and was beginning to tear, every flaw and every hidden bundle of secrecy starting to spill out.

_Sticks and stones may break my bones…_

There was a post-it note stuck to the coffee maker in the kitchen. _**Fresh beans for our resident queen. -B**_ He was struck with a well of affection for Bruce; the physicist knew him so well. He had even set out Tony's favorite coffee mug next to the machine, a red and blue ceramic cup with a white star at the center, _Captain America is my daddy_ written in bold over it. It was an Etsy buy, something Rhodey got him as a joke the Christmas before, but Tony adored it.

Looking at the mug now, however, had him scrutinizing the last word. _Daddy._

Sexual jokes aside, Tony had never felt he had one. He sure as shit never called Howard that as a child. He called him father as he grew older and more rebellious, but even as a little boy, Howard was just _dad._ _Daddy_ was a boy's hero. He was a role model. He was something to look up to. Safety. Love. Protection. People in those days didn't interfere with how others reared their children. It wasn't lost on Tony that had he been a child now, he most likely would have ended up in the system.

Or not. Money could buy _a lot_ of things.

He shelved the mug, not wanting to look at a word that held so much meaning without anything to back it up, and plucked another blindly. It was a Thor cup, the handle being an upside-down hammer. And really, _who came up with these things?_

Most of the Avengers merchandise in the tower he had bought; it had seemed so funny at the time. But gazing down at the ridiculous mug in the cool light of a March morning, his father asleep in the next room… It all felt so trivial. There were real problems in the world. And he was a lost and damaged man just trying to wade through it.

Money could buy a lot of things, but he couldn't see how it could fix this.

Howard snored when he was drunk. Tony remembered that fact abruptly as he opened the door to the guest room. He snored like a drunken sailor on leave. As a child he could only hate how it grated his sensibilities, how certain sounds were too much for his young mind to understand. How could Howard be so loud when Momma was so quiet. It assaulted him, dragging him right back to the age of seven when he had tried - for the last time - to climb in bed with his parents after a nightmare. Only to have Howard wake and angrily throw him out.

This Howard was around his own age. It was bizarre to think about. This Howard would know nothing of Tony for almost ten years. This Howard was free of the burden of a tiny, inquisitive, genius child. A boy whose brains outweighed his own.

As Tony leaned against the door frame and sipped black coffee from a Thor themed mug, he wondered at the absurdity of it all.

_You are a man who has everything. And nothing at all._

\---

Bruce's alarm woke him at half-past seven. He groaned and rolled over, dismissing the annoying and chirpy music that sang out from his cellphone, and throwing the blankets over his head. "Damn you, Rogers!"

But a deal was a deal.

With a sigh that could rival Tony's at his most annoyed, he sat up and swung his feet over the edge of his bed. It was a small price to pay for keeping the Other Guy at bay.

The little efficiency apartments they each stayed in were comfy, cozy, and high tech. Spacious enough for a small living area as well as their beds, and an alcove that housed a mini-fridge, a sink, and a small stove, with a line of three cabinets above. They each had their own en-suite bathrooms and medium-sized walk-in closets. But for all Bruce cared, it could be a box. What made it home was Tony and the other Avengers. And he hadn't had a home in so, _so_ long before this.

Most of their time was spent in the common rooms, a kitchen and a living room that catered to housing six superheroes. Tony was the only one with an actual apartment, but then again, it was _his_ building. He had confided in Bruce early on that when they all first moved in he was worried he wouldn't be so readily accepted. The larger apartment had been for him to hide out in.

Bruce liked Tony's suite just fine; it suited the genius. But he preferred his own little nook. Tony had let them each decorate as they wished, presenting them with a slew of interior designers and expensive furniture, but Bruce just took the IKEA catalogue from the corner market and created his own space. Natasha, Clint, and Thor took advantage of the designers and their own little studios looked like they could be featured in magazines. Steve went back and forth between doing his own thing and taking professional advice. His was less perfect, but Bruce thought it looked more like a lived-in home than the others. Though, he never gave voice to that opinion.

They lived rent-free and took care of whatever food they wanted in their personal apartments, but it was Tony who kept the common kitchen stocked with a whole multitude of treats and groceries. He did so much for them and never expected anything in return. Bruce frowned at that. He really should make it a point to show his appreciation more.

Tony gave _them_ a _home_. He gave _Bruce_ a _family_.

A trip to the market meant getting dressed, and Bruce slugged on a pair of khakis and a polo. He didn't bother with the mess of curls on his head, only threw on his shoes and jacket, and grabbed his cellphone and wallet on the way out. He didn't leave the tower often, mostly he just ordered what he needed from JARVIS and had everything delivered. There was no room in the world for a man with a giant green problem.

But on the rare occasion that he did venture outside, he truly enjoyed it. The March morning was crisp and dry, and when he exited the building and turned toward the market, he breathed in deep. In and out. Taking in the fresh air and centering himself.

The Saturday crowd was out: couples loaded up with buys from the farmer's market in the park, twenty-somethings lugging themselves to brunch after a night spent partying, and parents chasing their children down the sidewalks, searching for something to do now that the weekend was here. He weaved his way through them, keeping his eyes down and acting like he was one of them. Just a regular guy out for a stroll. No Hulk. No world-saving. _Move along, folks, nothing to see here!_

Kirby's Market and Delicatessen sat facing the tower on the adjacent street. Bruce caught sight of the fresh flowers the owner stacked outside the door as he waited for the signal to switch to _walk_. The Other Guy liked flowers. He liked how pretty they were and how they smelled, but he tended to crush them accidentally when he attempted to hold them.

It was apt, Bruce thought, when he compared the flowers to the team. Not that they were delicate by any stretch of the word, but when it came to Hulk, he just didn't know his own strength. The Other Guy was opening up more and more when it came to them, accepting the others like he did Tony. But even Thor wasn't strong enough to withstand a Hulk hug.

Still, Bruce decided as he crossed the street, he'd buy some flowers. Some he'd place in a vase in the apartment; a little burst of color to cheer him up. The rest he'd give to the Hulk.

Roses and daffodils. Maybe a sunflower. He fingered the petals on the bright flower, nodding to himself and gathering the bouquets. Yes. He'd buy the sunflowers for the common areas. Everyone could do with a little cheering up.

The ding of the bell over his head was only partially covered by the rustling of the plastic holdings for the bouquets. He stepped inside the dim light of the store and picked up a basket. Eggs, bacon… he was pretty sure he was out of vanilla extract and he needed that for the pancakes. Turning a corner at the end of an aisle, he blindly grabbed a box of tea from an endcap, even he enjoyed a little surprise once in a while. As he turned into the refrigerated section, his sight landed on a boy of about six or seven, staring at him with wide eyes.

_Oh, no._

"Mommy! Mommy, look!"

Bruce hurried, grabbing _milk, eggs, butter, bacon_ in quick succession, and scurrying away before the mother could recognize him. It wasn't until he was hastily putting his groceries on the counter at the checkout that he heard the little boy again.

"Mommy, he saved us, didn't he?"

Bruce's hands shook as he inserted his debit card into the reader.

"And, Mommy! He catched Iron Man!"

Daring to look up, he caught the mother's eyes. She looked equal parts scared and fascinated.

"I like when he changes into the Hulk! It's super cool!"

Bruce grabbed his bags and the receipt, racing to the door. _This was a bad idea. JARVIS could have easily had someone fetch all of this._

He was halfway down the sidewalk when a hand grabbed at his elbow, "Sir!"

He jolted, spinning around to face whoever had spoken. It was the mother. _"Pretty lady!"_ Hulk whispered in his mind. He shoved him back. _Not now!_

"You forgot your card," the woman was speaking. And Bruce blinked. _Oh._

Gingerly, he took the debit card from her hand, "Thank you, I, uh, sorry."

"No problem. Happens to me more than I'd ever admit." She still looked uneasy, but her smile was friendly, "My son," she gestured to the excited boy behind her, "he was wondering if he could have a picture?"

"Oh, uh, sure." This was the part of being in the Avengers he couldn't get used to: People who weren't nearly as afraid of him as they should be and the heroics of it all. Natasha sometimes felt the same way. They were the bad guys for so long that it was startling to think they were admired in any way.

He knelt to the ground, moving the bags away enough that they wouldn't interfere with the shot. The boy unabashedly threw his arms around him.

"I was you for Halloween! Mommy painted my face green!"

He was surprisingly pleased to hear that, "That's pretty awesome!"

"But I didn't knock on any doors! _I smashed!"_ That startled a laugh out of Bruce just as the woman took the picture.

"Oh, sorry," she said, showing him her phone, "you weren't ready." In it, the boy was looking at him, wonder splashed across his face, and Bruce was laughing.

"No, it's perfect."

She smiled, "Thank you. I think you made his year!"

"Thank _you_ ," he said softly, ruffling the boy's hair and standing. "I hope you have a great rest of your day."

He was pretty sure she could tell he was uncomfortable, but she made no move to call him out on it. "Come on, Joey, let's head home. Daddy is waiting for us!"

"Okay! Bye, Hulk!" He took his mother's hand and Bruce watched them go, a sense of longing welling up inside him. He wanted a family of his own.

A little voice within him spoke up, "You _have_ a family."

Turning around to face the tower he thought, _I do, don't I?_ It wasn't the family he expected, maybe, but they were the family he needed. And that was okay too.

\---

Steve was just approaching the revolving doors to the tower when he saw Bruce walking up, "Breakfast?" he asked, a guilty smile on his face.

Bruce lifted the bags, "Yup. Tony awake?"

"He's in the workshop. Think he needed some time by himself, he'll come up for food though." Steve laughed, "for your pancakes especially."

"They are amazing," Bruce boasted.

Steve took two of the bags. "Let me help."

Nodding his thanks, Bruce entered the building, waiting for Steve before they set off to the elevator. Steve eyed him. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Got stopped for a picture. It was weird."

"How so?"

Bruce paused, his hand in mid-air to hit the button outside the elevator. "I'm not, I guess, I don't know. I'm not used to being a hero yet."

The doors opened, and Steve patted his back as he stepped on. "You are a hero, Bruce."

Bruce said nothing to that. He moved next to Steve and keyed in his code for the Avengers floor.

"What's with the flowers?" Steve asked, gesturing to the bouquets on his hand.

"Just a little cheer. Figured we needed it."

Steve gave a snort at that, "You got that right."

He could tell Bruce was weighing his next words. He always shifted from one foot to the other when he felt he had something important to say but didn't know how to voice it. Steve was patient, waiting him out with a calm understanding. The doors opened when Bruce finally found the words.

"We should inform SHIELD. If only to-" Biting his lip, he looked up at Steve sheepishly, "they may have someone Tony could talk to. Someone he can actually tell that his dead father traveled through time. I mean, this can't be good for his mental health."

Sighing, Steve stepped off the elevator and turned toward Tony's suite. When he answered, he kept his voice low, just in case they were overheard. "I thought about it. But SHIELD may complicate things. I'm here for Tony - we all are. If it gets out of hand, that is - if it looks like he needs a professional to speak to, then we will. For the moment, the less people that know, the better."

"I trust your judgment."

"Thank you," Steve replied, opening the door. “JARVIS," he asked, "is Tony still in the workshop?"

There was a pause before the AI answered, mostly likely conferring with Tony as to whether or not to inform them of his creator's whereabouts. JARVIS was used by all the Avengers, from their cellphones to their own work, but he was loyal (as loyal as a computer could be) to Tony.

"Yes, Captain Rogers, Sir is currently in his workshop."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Steve answered, trading a look with Bruce.

The physicist just gave a soft laugh in answer, "His children," he said in response to the unspoken question. Tony's bots were his kids. He created them, and they loved him best.

Steve led Bruce into the kitchen, gesturing to the stainless steel appliances, "All yours. Do you want any help?"

"No, thanks. Do whatever it is you gotta do, like, I don't know, _shower,"_ Bruce teased, chuckling as Steve made a show of smelling his armpits. "I'd rather not have you sweating into the pancake mix. Tony frowns upon that."

_"I_ frown upon that," Steve muttered, backing up and exciting the kitchen. "I'm going to shower," he spoke louder as he crossed the apartment, "and then I have some files I need to go over for Fury. Let me know when it's done, and I'll get Tony up here."

Bruce waved his hand dismissively, already pulling things from the plastic bags. "Forty-five at the least."

From the doorway to the hallway, Steve spoke again, the hint of a devilish smile on his lips. "Don't go poking through any drawers in the living room or bedroom. You may not like what you find."

"I shudder at the thought!"

Checking in on the hangover buddies, Steve found both Clint and Howard still asleep exactly where he had left them. Natasha was nowhere to be found, but her jacket was missing from the hook by the door. With Tony safely in his workshop and everyone else accounted for, he entered his apartment, stripping as he went. A nice hot shower would do wonders for his exhausted mind.

It all really _was_ too much.

Seeing Howard the night before had jarred Steve's memories. Yes, this Howard was a bit older, but in many ways he looked the same. He seemed to act the same too. Still reckless, still impulsive… It set off a wave of nostalgia inside of Steve that he thought he had conquered.

Steve tried to push the thoughts away as he stepped under the stream of hot water, but they wouldn't budge. Howard reminded him of Peggy, and not the Peggy who was losing herself to Alzheimer's in a hospital across the ocean, but _his_ Peggy.

Young. Full of piss and vinegar. His first love.

He felt guilty, sometimes, of falling so quickly in love with Tony. Felt like he was doing a disservice to her. But on her more lucid days she had told him how happy she was that he had found someone. Even if that someone was a man she had watched grow up.

_"I'll come to the wedding,"_ she had said, _"if I'm still around for it."_

He still loved her, probably would always love her. You just didn't forget your first.

But Tony…

Tony was his everything. Steve's entire world revolved around him, the _sun rose and set with him_ , as clichéd as it was. And yeah, it was potentially dangerous for them to be so wrapped around each other, being who they were. But he couldn't leave Tony any more than he could leave the team. Even if their connection to each other had the capability of rendering them useless if one of the multitudes of bad guys they faced got wind of it. Tony was a part of him. And he was a part of Tony.

It was only partially the reason they were not 'out,' so to speak. The less the bad guy's knew, the safer Tony was. Tony would say the same about Steve. The other reason was because of Tony's importance to the tech world and his company. Being gay was definitely more accepted in the new millennium, but not nearly enough. Not yet.

Rinsing, Steve smiled as he tilted his head back. _Wouldn't Bucky get a kick out of this -_ his best friend, who only ever wanted to pick up a dame, was hopelessly in love and dating a man.

And not just any man, but Howard Stark's son.

But that honestly never bothered him. It should have, he knew. It was a bit bizarre, wasn't it? He had fallen into the ice 25 years before Tony was even born. Technically, he was in his nineties. Physically, he was still young.

Steve really tried not to think about it.

A burst of heat enveloped Steve as he stepped out of the shower, compliments of the heaters Tony had installed in everyone's bathroom. That wonderful man really did think of everything. The ridiculously fluffy towel he wrapped around his waist was just another luxury courtesy of Tony, and he entered his bedroom to dress only to find Natasha sitting on his bed, flipping through his sketchbook.

"Nat!" He scolded, surprised and quickly checking to make sure nothing was showing through the towel, "What are you doing?"

"I always loved your drawings," she said instead of answering. "You're amazing at capturing emotion."

"I'm kinda naked here!" He tried again, but she continued to ignore him.

"Like this one," flipping the book around, she showed Steve the sketch she was talking about. One of the many he had done of Tony. It was a cold day, the glass to the windows covered in the condensation from the heat of the apartment, and Tony sat against the back of his couch, head propped up with his arm, staring out through a circle he had cleared with the sleeve of his sweater. His eyes were focused on something far away, something no one else could see, and the beautiful deep mahogany of his irises was closed over with sadness.

Steve never did figure out what Tony was thinking about. He was prone to that, of getting lost for a bit, swimming through his thoughts like he was trying to wade in the rough waters of Robert Moses Beach right before a storm.

Steve had drawn that too. Tony's face was filled with a childlike joy that day as he had attempted to get past the break in the waves, failing over and over, never making it deeper than his thighs, laughing each time he got knocked down. Before he gave up, he threw his arms out and called to the ocean, "You win! But I'll be back!"

Each drawing was a different facet. A confusing, complicated, deeply damaged but still so loving man. Sadness and stubbornness, incandescent emotion huddled up in resilience. He challenged the world but also hid from it. Strength, courage, and pain. Like a kaleidoscope, beautiful and dizzying and addicting all at once.

Steve took the sketchbook from Nat and flipped it closed, "Tony is easy to draw. If you know what to look for," he responded quietly.

She tilted her head to the side in question, "And what do you look for?"

The query made him smile softly. "That would be telling," he teased, holding his index finger up to the side of his nose.

She laughed, "That's fair. I can't know all the secrets."

From his dresser, he plucked out a pair of jeans and a shirt, grabbing his underwear from another drawer and gesturing to them, "Mind if I get dressed if we're going to have a conversation?"

"Sure, go ahead." She made no move to get up, or to turn around, so he made a face and went back into the bathroom. As he closed the door, she yelled out, "Spoilsport!"

When her guard was down, Natasha was funny, friendly, and sassy. He really adored that about her.

After he dressed - _So sorry, Nat, show's over!_ \- he walked back into his bedroom and grabbed a pair of socks. "Want to tell me why you found it necessary to hang out in my room while I was in the shower?"

"Besides the obvious?" She smirked, leaning forward, her eyebrows raised.

"Nat," he started, sitting on the bed and pulling one of the socks on, "what's up?"

Her grin fell and she leaned back against the headboard, "Fine. Howard is still asleep - so is Clint for that matter - but I know Tony is up and in his workshop. I just wanted to know if he's okay."

Steve paused in putting on the other sock. "I'm going to keep a tally of everyone asking me that."

"Go ahead, no one is going to take that bet."

"What bet?" Steve sighed, not understanding the joke and tugging the sock on the rest of the way. Letting his feet rest on the floor, his hands dangling over his knees, he shook his head, dismissing the thought. Natasha and the others, particularly with Clint, had some weird jokes. Bets on what Steve would or wouldn't do notwithstanding. "I don't know," he said honestly instead, moving the topic back to where it belonged, "you know Tony. He doesn't like to show his hand."

"But _you're_ his boyfriend."

"Yeah, and he's still a mystery to me sometimes," Steve responded, his voice frustrated. "Look, chances are he's not okay. But if we act like he's not, he's just going to close up shop and we'll never get anywhere. Treat him as normal, just - I don't know - watch what you say."

She looked incredulous. "Firstly, how is that not treating him any differently, secondly, of course he's not okay, his dead father is in the guest room!"

"Then why did you ask?"

The look she gave him spoke volumes; she was disappointed he hadn't figured it out. "Because I needed to know if you were okay. And you're not."

"Wait," Steve held his hand up, "how does that-? Ugh. Never mind. Spy. I get it."

"Steve, if you're not handling this well either-"

"Don't. I know. There's nothing I can do to stop how I feel. You guys are just going to have to deal with me and Tony being kind of a mess right now," he lamented.

"Okay," she conceded, standing up, "Okay, that's fair. But if you need to talk-?"

"You'll be the first to know."

His phone sounded, the text alert cutting off whatever she was going to say next. Unashamedly, she picked up his cell and read the text. "Bruce says breakfast is ready."

"Nat, we talked about this respecting privacy thing…"

She tilted her head, "Privacy smivacy. Wait," she glared, hand held out. "Is Bruce making you his pancakes?!"

Snatching his phone from her hand, he grinned devilishly, "Yes. And none for super spies who can't handle two drunk men!"

"Whatever, I didn't want pancakes anyway," she huffed, crossing her arms, but the tapping of her foot gave her away.

"Sure thing, Nat."

"Oh, come on! His pancakes are legendary!" She yelled, her arms out in pleading.

"No way!" He laughed, "He's making Tony and me pancakes because I saved him from having to save _you_ last night!"

She made an offended noise, "Really? Where does Tony come into that equation, huh? Why does he get pancakes?"

"Because what's mine is Tony's."

"You both _suck_."

"Yes." Steve smirked coyly. "Yes we do."

Taking off to the door, clearly done with him, she groaned, "Ugh! He's really rubbed off on you!"

Steve laughed loudly. "That too!"

"Bye! You pervert," And she was gone, Steve's laughter trailing behind her.

Gathering his dirty clothes and throwing them into the hamper, he called out to JARVIS, "Can you please tell Tony breakfast is ready?"

"Right away, Captain Rogers." Steve was just headed to the door when the AI spoke again, "Sir says he'll be right up."

"Thank you, JARVIS."

"You're welcome, Captain Rogers." There was a pause. "I bet you Alexa can't do that."

\---

Howard awoke to the brightness of the day. It was awful. His head was clanging with the insistent stampede of a high school band, and his mouth was as dry as a cracker. He groaned and rolled over, flopping to his stomach with one hand hanging off the bed. Eyes barely open to the intruding sun of the bedroom.

The very unfamiliar bedroom.

He shot up quickly, his heart beating fast before the events of the day before crashed back into focus.

"Fuck." And he dropped back down against the mattress. Magic and spells. Time travel and Steve. Drinking with that beautiful and dangerous woman and the man that called him Asshole. Steve yelling at him. The man Tony barely looking at him but then… putting him to bed?

Jesus, how much did he drink?

The pressure in his bladder was relentless, and Howard forced himself to sit up and swing his feet over the bed, tugging the shirt he wore back into place and- Wait. Whose shirt was this? And… whose pants were these? Though they were very comfortable. He'd woken up in worse before.

Standing proved more difficult than sitting up, apparently he was still a tad bit tipsy. Oh well, he'd done much more under a deeper influence of alcohol than clear his bladder. There were no sounds coming from the kitchen, so if he could just find the toilet and get back into bed, then he could sleep the rest of this off.

"Good morning, Howard."

He blinked into the bright lights of the kitchen. "Natasha? Right?"

The redhead nodded, "Sleep well?"

"Not sure. How much did I drink last night?"

She was seated at the kitchen Island, a cup of tea in front of her, no sign of the stress she faced from the night before. "I'll put it this way, there's no vodka left."

"Oh good, I hate to leave leftovers." She chuckled at that. "Where's the bathroom? I gotta take a leak." He asked, and she raised an eyebrow but pointed down the hallway.

"Second door."

He nodded and rushed as well as he could with a drum section practicing in his temples, slamming the door behind him. And no, he wasn't ashamed when he sat. He could barely hold himself up and pissing all over himself wasn't anything that was on his current to-do list. Ever.

At least he remembered to wash his hands.

Back in the kitchen, Natasha was standing at the counter, poking through the cabinets, "Hungry?"

"Fucking starved."

"Well," she turned to appraise him, "We should probably stay away from anything that will make you vomit. I'm not in the mood to clean it up, and if you're anything like Clint, that's a definite." Over her shoulder, she gestured to the living room where the other man from the night before was still asleep on the couch.

"Gonna wake him?"

"Hell yeah. That's half the fun." The glint in her eyes had him questioning his safety. And maybe exciting him just a little.

"Right." It seemed better to just agree with her. He liked living, after all, no matter where in time he was. "Where's Steve?"

Another eyebrow raise. "He's having breakfast in Tony's suite with Bruce."

"Who's Bruce?"

Pulling a loaf of bread out of the bread box, she answered curtly, "You ask a lot of questions."

"Uhm, sorry? I guess, I just don't know any of you." Really, he never did have much of a sense of self-preservation.

But she didn't kill him, so that was a win. "He's another occupant of the tower. You probably won't meet him anytime soon."

Watching as she slid four pieces of bread into the toaster, he dared another question, "Why not?"

"That picture in the living room? With the six of us, you remember it?" He nodded to her and she continued, "The green thing in the back is the Hulk. And the Hulk is what Bruce turns into when he's pissed."

"Holy shit."

"Understatement of the century, Howard. He's staying away for your protection." She walked to the fridge and pulled out a pre-cut container of fruit, opening it and setting it in front of Howard. "And Hulk is very fond of Tony."

"I'm gathering that I do something to this Tony in the future. And that's why I'm universally hated?" He spoke, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "Whatever it is, I haven't _done_ it yet."

Her shoulders sagged in concession, "I know," she answered quietly, "but it's kinda hard to separate."

"Who is he? To me, I mean."

She looked truly apologetic, "I can't tell you that, Howard. That's up to him."

"I guess that's fair. Can I have a hint?" He tried, picking up a melon with his fingers. She made a face and slid a fork across the counter.

"Boys," she lamented, shaking her head.

"Just a tiny hint?"

"No can do, Howard," she answered, and before he could pester her, she said, "I'm going to wake Sleeping Beauty."

"Fine, but can you tell me how old he is?"

She laughed, the sound crisp in the air. "Sure. It's not going to help you figure it out. He'll be forty-four at the end of May." With that, she left the kitchen in a sprint, and the only evidence of what she was doing was the unmanly squawk of Clint, followed by a whole lot of cursing.

Turning back to the fruit, he picked up the fork and speared a blueberry. So, this Tony guy was forty-three. Just about a year younger than he was now, but that meant nothing. Howard did the math in his head, he'd be 53 the year Tony was born. That was 1970, a full nine years into his own future. The age-gap was fairly large, how the hell would he have been able to come in contact with Tony enough to hurt him? Unless he was… Nope. He wasn't going there. That was impossible. But they did _look_ a fair bit alike.

"Clint's awake!" Natasha called cheerfully as she re-entered the kitchen, Clint trailing behind her and rubbing his side.

"You are the devil," he shot at her, making a beeline for the coffee maker. He fumbled in the cabinet, pulling out a shockingly purple mug. "Coffee?" He asked Howard, turning slightly to see him.

"God yes!"

Clint started to nod and froze, groaning and grabbing his head. "I take that back. Vodka. Vodka is definitely the devil."

"That's because you're _weak_ ," Natasha teased, handing him a glass of water and pulling a butterknife from one of the drawers.

He downed the water in one go and grumbled, "Down with Russia."

"What's that you said?" She brandished the knife at him, looking dangerous.

"Nothing! I'll get the butter!"

"Damn straight," she muttered, plucking the toast from the oven and plating them.

Clint opened the fridge, but instead of grabbing the butter, he leaned back to whisper to Howard in a horrible Russian accent, "We must not insult Mother Russia."

"Barton!"

"One stick of butter, coming right up!" A thunk behind Clint's head had both he and Howard whipping around, Clint yelping. "Jesus, Nat!"

The butter knife was sticking out of the wall, handle still vibrating with the intensity of the throw. Howard felt the blood rush from his face. _She threw a blunt knife so strongly it embedded itself into the wall!_ Turning to face Natasha, he gasped a startled laugh. She looked gleeful.

These people were crazy. That was the only explanation. Howard sat frozen in his seat, eyeing them warily. It was no wonder Steve was so different if this was his new team.

"You're all nuts," he said suddenly. "All of you."

"And?" Clint asked, handing Natasha the butter and glaring at Howard.

That gave Howard reason to pause. And… what exactly? The best kind of people were nuts, weren't they? It was something he had prided _himself_ on. Steve wasn't any different because his team was a tad off-kilter. It was because of something _he_ did. No reason to make up excuses.

He sighed heavily. "And nothing. I like it. Even if you do hate me." Shrugging, he held his hands out. "Just an observation?"

"Right," Clint's eyes narrowed. "Nice save, Asshole."

"Ah, I'm back to being Asshole?"

Clint's grin was equal parts cheeky and evil. "Yup!" But he still poured a cup of coffee for himself and Howard, handing him the mug. "Half and half in the fridge, if you want it, Asshole."

Just to spite him, Howard took a long gulp of the coffee black. "I'm good."

"Suit yourself," he responded easily, snagging a piece of toast Natasha had just buttered right from her hand and backing out of the room, "now, if you don't mind, I need a shower. I smell like vodka."

Natasha picked up a fresh piece and rolled her eyes. "Vodka doesn't have a smell, idiot."

"Whatever," Clint shot back, disappearing into the hallway.

"And you better bring that mug back!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," his voice trailed off and they heard his door shut moments later.

A plate slid in front of Howard and he glanced up, Natasha giving him a small smile, "Eat. You need something in your stomach. Cream cheese?" He nodded and she retrieved it, handing it to him along with a knife and sitting down with her last remaining piece of toast. "I get it, you know." At his inquiring look, she elaborated, "That you're not that guy yet."

He gave her a dubious stare in return and she shrugged, taking a dainty bite and placing the bread back onto her plate.

"I know this isn't what you expected," she continued, "but this is the reality of things. But-" she held up both her index fingers, hushing his response, "I will try to not treat you as the person you will be, and to try to give you what you deserve as the man you are now."

"Thank you," he said softly, picking up the knife and opening the silver package in front of him. _Philadelphia Cream Cheese_. Finally. Something he recognized.

"I can't speak for the others, but I know what it's like to be judged for someone you no longer are, or in your case, have yet to become."

"Russia?" He asked, that one word holding all of his questions.

"Yes. And for one, The Cold War is over, before you ask, and two, I _was_ an assassin for the Red Room. I'm not anymore, before you decide to report me to the authorities."

He jolted at that, but said nothing. It explained a lot. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know," she said honestly, "it's not usually information I offer up. But it looks like you need a friend, so do with that what you will."

"How many different ways do you know how to kill me?"

Her eyes darkened and she smiled. "Do you really want to know?"

"Nope!"

"Didn't think so."

They finished their breakfast in companionable silence, Howard taking it upon himself to wash the dishes. It was never something he did at home - he had staff for that - but it seemed the right thing to do for the woman who was offering friendship even though he would one day hurt her friend.

"I'll find clean clothes for you," she offered, lingering in the doorway a while later, "and we'll get you toiletries and whatever else you need. For now, stick to the guest room, the kitchen, the living room, and the bathroom. You can go to the landing pad if you need fresh air, but don't go anywhere else."

"I'll do that, thank you."

"And Howard?" she added softly, "Don't worry about it. They'll come around. Tony needs this."

"How do you know?"

The smile he received was gentle, and he could tell just how much she loved her team. "Because he's let himself hold onto old wounds too long. It's time he lets himself heal."

"You seem awfully sure of that," he responded, disbelief coating his words.

"I know better than them all. You're all stupid boys." She smirked. "And I'm not." Like that answered _anything_.

After she left him alone, he wandered the living room, picking up one of the tablet things Natasha had confiscated the night before. If she didn't want him on it, she shouldn't have left them out.

Although…

Sitting back at the kitchen Island, he fiddled with the side buttons until the screen turned on. Natasha was so much more forthcoming with information. She probably wanted him to use it. She wanted him to find out what happened, who _he_ became, who _they_ were. At least that was what he thought. This little black rectangle had to hold the answers.

But literally nothing on the device made sense.

Howard gave a startled laugh of excitement when he realized he could just _touch the screen_ to make things happen. Oh, he couldn't _wait_ for this technology to be readily available for him, even if he had no clue what it did.

Tapping a small curricular picture that looked like a camera lens, he laughed again when the screen changed to show _him_. Oh! This was wonderful!

The little rectangle wasn't an electronic file at all! It was a camera!

It took a few tries before he figured it out, but by tapping the white circle at the bottom, he could take a photo of himself _and view it immediately!_

He was actually giggling, snapping goofy photos of himself and feeling like a kid again, when movement by the door to the hallway caught his eye. _Tony_.

He knew his name now, and had the vague memory of his kindness the night before: Tony helping Howard change and get into bed in his drunken state, his soft words… With that in mind, he smiled at him, "I love this camera! It's amazing!"

But Tony didn't smile back. He looked confused, a bit scared, and his deep brown eyes were wide with both emotions.

Howard swallowed; the thoughts from just a few minutes before dancing at the edge of his mind. Tony's age. How he could know him. The three letters that flitted across his thoughts. Was it possible? Tony did look familiar in a way that Howard could only see when he looked in the mirror.

Tony looked away first. Starting down at his shoes, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. "Don't...just don't, Mr. Stark."

"Don't what?" Howard asked, the smile slipping from his face. What was last night then, if Tony still disliked him?

"Don't fucking try to make me like you," Tony whispered, a hard edge to his voice, even though he never lifted his eyes from the floor, "I can't- It's not fair." Each word was punctuated with frustration, turning into a snarl by the end of it.

Howard saw a dark spark, a small flash of brightness as Tony's eyes briefly lifted before falling again, right back to the same spot below him. "What's not fair?" He asked, his own voice taking on a slightly defensive tone.

"Any of it!" His voice was rising, the pitch wavering back and forth between fury and something sad and filled with longing. "What the fuck did you think you were doing?" The anger shot out, like the spittle he ejected as he said it, flying across the room and making Howard flinch back.

_Those three little letters…_

Placing the device down gently, Howard stood, still a little shaky on his feet, but he did his best to hide it. He tempered his tone, trying to placate, trying to soothe, but he honestly had no experience with that. "They tell me I hurt you."

Tony did look up at those words, his head snapping straight, shock and anger smeared across his handsome features. "They had no _right_ to tell you that!" It made Howard step back, stumbling into the stool behind him by the viciousness of the accusation. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Maybe not, but, Jesus, I don't know what I did? Can't we just say, _I'm not that guy yet_?" Oh damn. Tony's eyes looked a little wet. This was more serious than he could ever have imagined. "Would it help if I said I'm sorry?" He tried, holding his arms out in concession.

A sound escaped Tony's throat. It was awful to hear, landing somewhere between a sob and a yell, and he was gone, just as he had the day before. Racing down the hallway until Howard heard the slam of a door echoing through the hallway.

For the most part, Howard Stark spent his forty-four years with no regrets; there was no use in it. He walked through life to his own rules, never apologizing for things out of his control, and never regretting his mistakes. He took them as a lesson and moved on.

For the first time since he was young, he was left feeling guilty. And it was for something he hadn't even done yet.

\---

"Tony?"

He was angrily wiping his eyes as the door shut behind him, mad at himself for letting Howard get to him, and for allowing his emotions to take control. He was a grown man, for Christ's sake! Crying over how daddy didn't love him enough was something his teenage self did. Not a forty-three year old superhero.

Looking up, he watched as Bruce wiped his hands on a dishrag, walking closer to him, but Tony recoiled. Bruce paused, speaking again, "Tones?"

"I'm fine!"

Bruce took a step back, but not out of offense or fear. His gaze was concerned, worried about Tony's reactions, but aware of his need for space. Tony was filled with a burst of appreciation for him. Bruce knew him well enough to discern the need to let Tony direct the conversation, to have authority over how it played out.

Because when Tony was upset, he felt like his emotions were out of his hands, and it was imperative he regain some semblance of agency in any way he could. Controlling the tone of the dialogue helped.

"Steve just went to grab a file from his room, he'll be back any minute. Do you want to talk about it?" Choices. That's what Bruce gave to Tony. He gave him autonomy. The space and the ability to make his own decisions was helping to calm him - but only a little, and Tony took a deep breath.

He attempted to steel his voice, he really did. If he didn't feel okay, he could at least act it, but the slight shaking was obvious, especially to someone who knew him so well, and Tony had to look away as he saw the worry grow in Bruce's eyes. "I bumped into Howard in the kitchen. I can't…I mean, why- There is no _reason_ for this! He couldn't have come back to when I didn't know Steve? Then, hey! Happy endings all around!"

Bruce let one corner of his lips lift in a sympathetic half-smile, "Can't explain everything Tony. You and I both know that. Even in science, sometimes there are no answers."

"Yes! There are! We just haven't figured them out yet!"

Laughing softly, Bruce finally stepped up to Tony and placed his hand on his shoulder, "Always the futurist," he said affectionately. "Come on, help me bring everything to the table. Pancakes fix everything."

Tony perked right up at that, "Pancakes? _Your_ pancakes?"

"Of course! Come on," he gestured, leading Tony into the kitchen.

"I should be offended that everyone thinks food will mollify me."

With a smirk, Bruce picked up a set of tongs and lifted a piece of bacon out to him. "Forgive me?"

"Duh," he snatched the bacon and shoved it into his mouth. "All right, what have we got here?" He asked, picking up the bowl filled with scrambled eggs, "Cheese in this?" He could act okay. _He could._

Bruce scoffed,"What am I? A savage? Of course there's cheese in it." Tony gave a genuine laugh. He knew Bruce was playing along and he loved him even more for it. He heard the door open and the sure-footed steps of Steve as he walked across the living to the kitchen.

"Man after my own heart," he spoke loud enough to get a rise out of Steve. Bruce chuckled, recognizing the ploy, and watching the door frame with Tony. As expected (because he was so, _so_ predictable), Steve popped his head in, a frown on his face.

"Hey! No stealing my boyfriend away with pancakes!"

Bruce's cheeky reply had Tony throwing his head back, barking a laugh, "Then maybe you should be a better cook!"

There was good humor on Steve's face, they did this song and dance often enough it was almost scripted. Steve would tease that Bruce wanted to steal Tony away with savory goodness, and Bruce would make fun of Steve's cooking.

Willingly, Tony pushed away everything he had been feeling and concentrated on the moment. _Forget Howard,_ he told himself, _you have Steve and Bruce right now. They're more important._

"Excuse you, I'm a fantastic chef," Steve patted Tony's belly, "no complaints here!" Tony could tell Steve knew something was up and he was grateful he didn't mention it.

Instead, Tony squawked, affronted and offended by the implication. "Hey!"

Kissing his head, Steve smirked. "No complaints here either." He picked up the baking pan with the bacon, "I love your belly."

Tony made a face, holding up the bowl and looking down at his stomach, "Am I getting a belly?"

"No," Bruce poked him, causing Tony to bend over a bit and suppress a giggle, almost dropping the bowl, "still rock solid there, GQ!"

"Damn it! You know I'm ticklish there, Banner!"

Taking the eggs before Tony could drop them, Bruce swung around to walk to the table. "What? The great Tony Stark? Ticklish?" He traded a loaded look with Steve, "Impossible!"

"Whatever," Tony grumbled in response, picking up the pancakes. "I hate both of you."

Steve, pulling orange juice from the fridge, heaved an exaggerated sigh, "Guess it's just you and me, Brucie."

"My, my," teased Bruce, "who will eat all this food?"

"More pancakes for us then!"

They both turned to look cheekily at Tony, who stood in front of the cabinets with three dishes in hand, looking unamused. He pointed to Bruce, "No science bros experiments for a week! And you!" He pointed at Steve, "No sex for a month!"

Steve snorted and took the plates from Tony's grasp. "You wouldn't last a day."

"I have dildos!"

"I was talking about the science," retorted Steve, kissing Tony's temple before opening the silverware drawer and picking up three forks and three butter knives.

Tony huffed, grabbing the napkin holder and sticking his tongue out like a child, "Fine, no blow jobs for a month, then!"

"Now, that's just cruel!"

Tony grinned wickedly, stalking past him and sliding the napkins to the center of the table, "Serves you right!"

Bruce looked completely grossed out, paused over the table where he set the eggs down, "I don't need to know _any_ of this."

"What?" Tony shot back, his smile devilish, "Don't want to know all about our _fantastic_ sex life? Cause I gotta tell you, it's pretty awesome. Steve's enormous di-"

A hand slammed over his mouth. " _-discussion_ on the finer points of lovemaking are intelligent and profound," Steve finished for him. "Lovely. Now let's eat." His face was a nice shade of crimson.

Looking a little red himself, Bruce retrieved the syrup and the salt and pepper, "Please? I'm starving and I don't want to think about the two of you doing the nasty."

It was Steve's turn to look offended, "There's nothing nasty about it," he said, letting Tony go to get the glasses for the juice, "Bruce, as a man of science, you should know that intercourse is-"

"Rogers!" Bruce covered his face, laughing hard, "It's a saying! Oh God, please stop!"

"And I'm just telling you that it's very beautiful, Tony and I love each other and-"

Tony tuned them out, moving back to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee and make tea for Steve and Bruce. They were trying hard to distract him - and it was mostly working - but he found himself thinking once again of his father.

Sitting alone in the kitchen. With no one to talk to. Only toast and coffee to eat. In a completely new and unfamiliar century.

He paused, a tea bag hovering over Steve's mug, and looked up and over at his love. He had sat down, across from Bruce, laughing heartily at whatever the other had just said and spooning eggs onto his plate. Happy. Content.

Steve's pain from waking up so far removed from everything he'd known diminished more and more each day because he had a new family. New friends. A new life. A boyfriend who adored him. A home. Love. Comfort.

The tea bag dropped into the hot water with a splash.

"Hey, there's enough, right? For another plate?"

Steve and Bruce quieted, looking at him with worried eyes. "Yeah," Bruce answered, "I made plenty."

Tony nodded and slid another plate from the cabinet. They helped him load it up, never questioning what he was doing, because they knew.

Tony was many things, he was brash, sassy, and bossy. Too smart for his own good, and too outspoken. He was nosey, he was stubborn. And he had the biggest heart and capacity for love any of them had ever seen. No matter how hard he tried to hide it.

Smiling softly - if a little embarrassed - he said, "Get the hot sauce out for me, I'll be right back." And he left, headed down the hallway and into the kitchen, where he found Howard still at the island, flipping through a magazine, as alone as he was when Tony left him.

He looked up as Tony entered, eyeing him warily. The plate slid across the marble surface like an olive branch extended between them.

"Breakfast," Tony quietly offered, "Bruce's pancakes. They're really good. Uhm, there's syrup in," he turned and pointed, "that cupboard. I'll get you a fork."

"Thank you, Tony," Howard said, just as quietly, as if he spoke loudly the spell between them would be broken.

Tony nodded, handing him a clean fork. "Salt and pepper are up there as well, uh, when you're done, just bring the plate back to my suite. It's the door at the far end. You can shower and I'll find something for you to wear."

"I appreciate this."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he answered lightly, pushing down the emotions that were threatening to surge up.

Howard graced him with a smile. "That it is."

Nodding again, Tony left before he could say anything else, hurrying back down the hallway and escaping into his rooms, blinking away tears. He closed the door soundlessly and leaned against it. Before anything else, he needed to get himself under control. There was no way he could walk into the kitchen to face Steve and Bruce like this.

They would know, of course, because they always did. But if he could pretend he was okay, maybe he'd start to actually feel like it.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, me thinks Natasha is up to something...
> 
> This is me on my knees, begging for comments? Pretty please? They make me feel warm and fuzzy.


	3. The Sins of the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little rocky, and a secret comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into the meat of the story now, and I'd like to apologize for the delay in uploading. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter by next Monday.

It was a bit too cold out to be sitting on the roof, and Clint cursed his own lack of foresight in not bringing a warmer coat with him. He shuffled his position, bringing his knees up to his chest and tucking his hands away, staring out into the early afternoon sky. It was quiet up there, which was what he was after.

Sure, he liked living with the team. It had given him a sense of camaraderie that he hadn't felt in a long time, but sometimes, it was just _too noisy_. Which was why he retreated to the roof so often, hearing aids hidden away safely in his pocket, and nothing but the cool expanse of blue in front of him.

He had taken it upon himself to inform Pepper and Rhodey of the situation. Tony wasn't about to, because God forbid he ask for help (never mind the fact that Clint was the same way).

Natasha was babysitting Howard, and Steve and Bruce were distracting Tony, so that left him. And if he were honest with himself, there was a little monster of guilt doing a jig in his stomach. He needed to do _something_ to feel like he was helping.

It had started out all right. He saw Howard. He called him Asshole. But then Natasha broke out the vodka, and he found himself _enjoying_ Howard's company.

Three glasses in, and he was laughing his ass off, swapping stories and goofing around. Man, he was a cheap ass date.

It hadn't really hit him until that morning in the shower (they really were the best places to think), and he realized that he had basically betrayed Tony by being so _friendly_ with Howard. Natasha didn't seem to mind; she was almost encouraging it. But what she thought wasn't what mattered. This was about Tony - and Steve to a lesser extent.

Howard wasn't just a bad father. He neglected Tony. Had physically hurt him as well, if Clint was reading the situation correctly, and that meant that _Howard was the bad guy_.

He gave Tony what he needed in terms of monetary things. Food, clothing, expensive toys, a nice house to live in, and the best schools. On paper, he was a saint. In practice, he was a bastard.

Tony didn't open up to just anyone. Hell, he didn't really open up at all. Rhodey and Pepper knew things, but that just might be because they had known him for years. He was sure Bruce was aware of some of the details, Natasha knew probably because she was Natasha, and you couldn't keep shit from her. Steve was the most acquainted with Tony's secrets because, hey, that happens when you fall in love with someone. Or at least, that's what's _supposed_ to happen.

As for him - and Thor for that matter - they knew only what they could ascertain by spending time with Tony. Things he did, quirks he had. They told volumes. Thor had him in years, but Clint's studies as a spy were nothing to shake a stick at. He was nowhere near what Natasha was, but then again, he didn't go through what she had to in order to gain those skills.

Tony didn't trust easily. Check one. If he was caught too unaware, he sometimes flinched away from an enthusiastic hand. Check two. He was seriously insecure. Check three. And tried to hide it behind an obnoxiously false bravado. Check four. He had a thirst to prove himself and a grave misrepresentation of his own worth outside of his intelligence and his looks. Check five and six.

He knew he was smart - he never stopped reminding them! And he knew he was gorgeous - Clint was deaf, not blind. But he honest to God didn't see his own measure as a friend or a person, as a man without genius or a snazzy wardrobe. He thought he had to be _useful all the time._ Because if he wasn't, then why would anyone keep him around?

Check seven through fifty. Or something like that. Clint lost count.

Regardless, it spelled shitty childhood in caps. And it all linked back Howard.

A Howard he had basically befriended the night before. Calling him Asshole in the kitchen that morning didn't even start to make up for it. That was another reason he called Rhodey. Because best friends fix everything, right? Rhodey could make Tony feel happier just by being there. He knew ways to distract Tony that Steve didn't. He knew how to fish through Tony's mind to aid him in organizing his thoughts. Rhodey had years of experience dealing with the bizarre mind of a genius, he knew the inner workings better than even Steve because he had been there when Tony grew from teenager into adult.

Clint wasn't an idiot. He knew he was trying to justify his actions in calling him to the tower. He _knew_ he was trying to make up for his infraction the night before.

He also knew Tony might be pissed that Clint had called in the big guns to handle the situation.

This is exactly why Clint hated getting involved with other people's business. Not that it ever stopped him.

"Vodka tonic for your thoughts?"

"Jesus fucking H Christ!"

Natasha - out of fucking nowhere, mind you - had plopped right in front of him. And probably sheared at least ten years off his life. Thank God his lip reading skills were sharp even when his heart was threatening to pack up and leave.

He fumbled for his hearing aids, standing and backing away from her. "What the fuck, Nat?!" The world became a loud, annoying rumble as he clicked them on. She had been talking, and he had been ignoring her.

"-Just think that this could be good for him, and I need your support on this-"

He held him hand up, silencing her. "Number one, fuck you and whatever horse you rode in on, number two, give me a second to get over this heart attack, _thanks."_

"Aw, was little Clinton scared of the nice Russian lady?"

Narrowing his eyes, he threw his best glare at her. The meanest one he had. And she just laughed.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" He asked, spinning around to look for her entrance.

She shrugged, "I'm good at what I do," and smiled that evil smile she had. Man, was she good at that. "Also, you're off your game when you're hungover. Might want to work on that."

"Might want to work - Nat!"

"What? It's true. You should get drunk a few times a week and in the mornings work on your senses. It's a smart move."

Rubbing his eyes, he sat back down across from her. "What do you want, Natasha?"

"Oh, no. Not with that attitude."

He dropped his hand, tilted his head, and put the sass on full speed. "Natasha…" But again, she just laughed. Fuck, she was seriously infuriating sometimes, even if she was the best friend he had ever had.

"I'm sorry, you should see your face. You look like a seven-year-old tattling on her brother." When Clint just blinked at her, unamused, she shrugged, "I think I'm hilarious."

"And no one is going to argue with you on that-"

"-Good."

"-Because they value their lives."

She punched his arm. _And it really fucking hurt_. "Again, what the fuck, Natasha?!"

"Will you listen to me! Rhodey is almost here-" She batted his hand away when he tried to shush her in question. _How the fuck did she know that?_ "You talk really loud when you're on the phone! I'm surprised all of Manhattan doesn't know he's on his way!"

"I do not!"

"You do too! Now, let me speak, you overgrown Keebler idiot!"

"Stop stealing Tony's jokes! This is why you're not funny!"

Another punch in the arm, "Excuse you!"

"Stop punching me, Dane Cook!"

Head shaking back and forth and a warning glint in her eyes, she went to hit him again but he scooted back, "No! You get back here! You deserve this and you know it!"

The sound of an electric whir interrupted whatever Clint was going to say. He turned and stood up, stepping back to join Natasha as she climbed to her own feet, and watched as Rhodey flew in.

"Come on," Natasha said, bumping his shoulder. Clint winced and shot her a look. "Let's go meet him. I'll get you some ice. Wuss."

"You say the nicest things," he retorted, headed for the door.

"That's because I love you!" Swinging an arm around his shoulders, she squeezed, purposely putting pressure on the arm she had punched twice.

"Ow!"

"Oh, shut up, you big baby," she teased, opening the door. "We'll continue this discussion later."

They took the stairs, jogging down to the common living room. Both sighed in unison as they watched Howard, pressed up against the glass windows like a kid staring into a department store at Christmas as Rhodey landed in the War Machine suit.

"Think you overlooked a _tiny_ detail when you called Rhodey," she hissed into his ear.

"Too late now," he said, moving forward to the sliding doors. Howard looked over at him as he passed. "Is that him? Is that the robot?"

"What?"

"From the picture!" His head swiveled around to the shelf, "Though he's more red there."

"Same creator, but no, they're different," Clint responded, looking at Nat.

_How much do we tell him?_

_He'll figure it out anyway._

"That's War Machine," Clint explained, as Rhodey stepped onto the pad and the suit began to disassemble, "it's a combat suit, like a very powerful exoskeleton." Howard was listening, but his gaze was again locked onto Rhodey. "The one in the picture, the-" he turned to Nat, and she nodded, "the world knows him as Iron Man."

"Two robots. But, no," he breathed, his excitement palpable, "not robots! Men! This century is incredible!"

"Howard," Clint started, still genuinely liking the guy despite hating what he would eventually do to Tony; he had to warn him, and that just irked him even more, "Howard, that's Tony's best friend. Colonel James Rhodes."

"Oh. Does he hate me too?"

Taking a deep breath, Clint opened the doors, "You could say that."

"Stay," Natasha said sternly, pointing at Howard and following Clint outside. Howard didn't move from his spot against the glass, still gleefully watching as the suit dismantled. She slid the door closed, hurriedly whispering to Clint, "Does Tony know you contacted him?"

"Uh. No. Think he'll be mad?"

"Maybe. But he also might be happy to see him."

The last piece came off his suit, and Rhodey stepped towards them, "Barton! Care to tell me why you pulled me out of a meeting at Fort Bragg with a 911 text message and a voicemail demanding I get here _pronto?_ "

"I wouldn't have, if it wasn't important."

His face fell, "Is Tony okay?"

"That's a complicated question."

Rhodey quickened his pace, pushing past Clint, "Where is he?"

He'd seen them argue. Screaming in each other's faces, spit flying. So angry, Clint was sure they'd never speak to each again. Hell, a fight between them in the suits ended up destroying most of Tony's Malibu mansion.

But he had also seen Rhodey rally behind Tony. Support him, care for him. Fuss over him when he was injured, and pull him from some of deepest, darkest crevices of his own mind.

Rhodey wasn't just a best friend. He was an anchor for Tony. Kept him from floating away when he fell too far into a building frenzy, shook him out of his own head space when the science took over everything else, and got him piss drunk when the memories of his father threatened to suffocate him. When he needed to escape his trauma, just for a few hours, before he could lock it away again and pretend to be okay.

Bruce had told him what had happened that morning. The furious blinking away of tears, the anger, and the compassion he showed in bringing a meal to Howard.

Tony tried to conceal it, and most of the time he did it well. Until he became overwhelmed, until the seams in the walls he built around himself started to leak, faster and faster, and he could no longer keep his head above water.

That's why Clint called Rhodey.

He called Pepper because she could organize. She could help keep Tony focused. But Rhodey could help Tony stand back up.

"Colonel Rhodes!" Clint called, reaching out to grab his arm, "Wait!"

"Agent Barton, they're better be a damn good reason you have for stopping me!" he snapped, flinging around to face him. "Where is Tony?!"

"Rhodey, listen to me, Tony is okay! All right? No bumps, no bruises, I promise," he said, "but it _is_ complicated."

"He's okay? Physically?"

"Yes, now would you listen?"

Rhodey nodded, falling into parade rest, though his tense body language looked anything but restful. "Speak."

"Okay," Clint took a deep breath, "this is going to sound a bit, uh, crazy."

"Monsters, aliens, gods? Nothing surprises me anymore, Agent Barton."

"What about dead fathers time traveling to the future?" Natasha asked in her usual unflappable way. Clint shot her an exasperated look, _You suck with people_ was written as clearly as day on his face. She, as per the norm, ignored him.

"What?" Rhodey's eyebrows were furrowed, looking horrified and surprised all in one.

Clint rocked his head back and forth, weighing how best to explain the situation. "He cast a magic spell, in 1961, on a pin Steve had given him. He set it up so that the pin would be returned to Steve and as soon as he touched it: _brrrroooop_! Brought right into the future, right into our living room."

"Okay, I lied. There are some things that still surprise me." Stepping into their personal space, Rhodey lowered his voice, "Are you telling me that Howard Stark, the bastard that _abused my friend_ is in that tower right now?" he said, jabbing his finger toward the door, "At this moment?" He turned back towards the door and froze, his eyes landing on the vague outline of Howard, still at the window. "Is that him?"

Natasha stepped in front of him, blocking his view, "Yes, that's him, but Rhodey, _listen to me_ , I know you're feeling a bit protective of your friend, but don't-" He moved to go around her, determination set on his face. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back, "-Don't go in there and antagonize him!"

Scoffing, he stepped away again, his eyes trained on the figure at the window. _Damn,_ Clint thought, _didn't Howard have any self preservation at all?_ He _had_ told him this was Tony's best friend!

She tugged him so he faced away from the window, stepping around so their positions were switched, "This Howard is from 1961, Rhodes. Do you get what that means?"

"That he has nine years on how to think of how to be a better father?"

"No!" She turned to Clint, "This is what I was trying to tell you!" Looking back at Rhodey, she continued in a hurried and hushed tone, "That man in there isn't the Howard that raised Tony. Not yet anyway." When he moved again, she latched onto his bicep, "And we can't change that. But SHIELD is working on a memory serum that can take away short term," Clint startled -- he didn't know that. "I'm getting the components to Bruce. He'll be able to figure it out in no time, and what that means," this time, she grabbed Rhodey's chin, straight up forcing him to look at her, "What this _means_ is that we have a rare opportunity to give someone we care about some closure."

"What are you saying?" Rhodey spat out, "That we encourage some form of paternal bonding between them? For the love of- Agent Romanoff, that man beat his own kid, he ignored him to the point where Tony feels like he has no other choice than to be _useful_ all the damn time! Like unless he had something to offer, he's worthless! Jesus," his face swung back and forth between Clint and Natasha, "You guys _know_ this! It's not like it's uncommon knowledge when you actually get to know Tony!"

Natasha deflated, "We know. But what you need to understand is that we have the chance to help him, even fix it!"

"How?"

" _He_ ," she pointed to the window, "isn't so deep into his alcoholism _or_ his obsession with finding Steve yet."

"And?"

She sighed, "He knew he did something wrong, and even though he doesn't know what it is, he feels _remorse_ over it." She let that one word hang over them, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. _Remorse_.

A conscience. The ability to know when you're doing right and when you're doing wrong.

Rhodey spoke quietly, his voice barely concealing the inner fight waging in his mind, "You think this Howard will try to make up for what his future self did?"

She nodded, "Yes."

He took a deep breath, "And you think it can help Tony to feel better about himself?"

"I think this is exactly what Tony needs. To know who his father was, to get to know him and maybe _love him_ , and be loved in return."

Clint was amazed; Nat really _had_ come a long way. This was incredibly saccharine, but he couldn't help but agree, and he felt a sweep of pride for his friend. This wasn't some ploy for information, it wasn't an assigned mission. This was just Nat, thinking about someone she cared for, and wanting to help in any way she could.

It could backfire. This whole thing could blow up in their faces. But they had to take the chance. _Had to_. Because even the tiniest chance of Tony gaining some semblance of a stable mental state was worth the risk. And they were going to take it.

Tony would do it for them. Whatever it took. The least they could do was try to do the same for him.

\---

When Rhodey was finally allowed inside, he was calmer and more level headed. The fly over was filled with panic and imaginative scenarios on how Tony could have hurt himself this time. And just how bad it could be.

Before Tony's abduction and captivity in Afghanistan, Rhodey never had cause to worry _like this_ over his best friend. Oh, he worried. And that was an understatement. He worried Tony would fall into bed with the wrong person, or piss off the wrong businessman. He worried he'd drink himself into an early grave. He worried at the lonely nights spent in his workshop, _forcing_ himself to make something newer and better, to be _useful_ so he could feel like he was worth something other than good looks, a genius mind, and a hefty bank account.

He worried at the text messages sent in the middle of the night.

_Hey there platypus you up?_

_No. But what's up?_

_Just bored._

Bored was a lie. There was always a new project, or an unfinished blueprint. No, bored was Tony's way of saying he needed to talk. They rarely ever got into the actual reason that he needed that, but if all Rhodey could do was offer a friendly conversation, that's what he was there for.

Those conversations had usually started at the end of a bottle. With Tony drinking so much to try and suppress the memories that after all that, after getting shit-faced, they had been all he could think about. The unkind words from his father were just the beginning. When the subject did get breached, it was only bits and pieces to a much larger puzzle that Rhodey had to build over the years.

Howard, so stressed he had screamed at Tony until the daylight peeked over the horizon.

Howard, so drunk, he'd backhanded Tony down a flight of stairs.

Howard, so angry over a skipped class, he'd beaten Tony with a belt.

Howard, so obsessed with finding Captain Rogers that he forcefully used his own child's intelligence to try to accomplish that.

All things that would have made Rhodey curse the day that bastard had been born, had it not been for the fact that without Howard, he would never have known Tony.

A world without Tony Stark was incomprehensible.

Yes, they fought. They bickered like an old married couple. Said some pretty shitty things to each other as well. But when the cards were down - when they needed each other the most, they knew without a doubt who they could count on.

Howard Stark was nothing like he'd pictured him. Most of the photos he had seen showed an older Howard, white hair and mustache, skinny, and distinguished. Always with a drink or a cigar. He had met the man only a few times while at MIT. Brief interactions that usually involved him dragging Tony away for some ridiculous reason in the middle of the night. Some research, some _hunt_. It always ended up with Tony shaking and scared and cursing the day his father had met Captain America. Once, he had seen Howard hit Tony. Only once. After that, the bastard was more cautious, always waiting until Rhodey wasn't around.

This Howard wore a SHIELD t-shirt a size too big and sweatpants that were probably a size too small. His hair was disheveled, and he looked like he had one hell of a night. His hair was still black and thick, still good looking, still with that charming smile Rhodey hated that Tony could do too.

He wanted to punch him.

But Natasha's words were ringing around in his head. _That man in there isn't the Howard that raised Tony. Not yet._

Not yet.

He didn't look at all like the Howard from the few photographs Tony kept, or the man he had met at graduation that stood tall and proud behind his son. Media smile on, posing for pictures and paparazzi, while behind Tony's back, he kept his son's arm in a vice grip.

Tony was aging well. Graceful, even. Still gorgeous even at Forty-three - and Rhodey was not ashamed to admit that. Howard seemed to be on the same track. _Something_ fucked him up enough in the next ten years that aged him well beyond his time.

Clint cleared his throat, "Howard, this is Colonel James Rhodes. Rhodey, this is Howard."

"Mr. Stark," Rhodey said coolly. He was considering what Natasha had said, but it still didn't mean he had to be friendly with the guy.

"That's an impressive suit you got there, Colonel," but Howard kept smiling, sticking out his hand to shake Rhodey's. He pointedly ignored the friendly gesture.

"It gets me around."

Howard was nonplussed. He dropped his hand to his side and rocked back on his heels. "I gotta tell ya, this century, damn, it's fascinating! You can just fly anywhere in that thing? Where does it go when that thing-" he gestured to the landing pad, "-takes it off you? Do you put it back on the same way? How does it work? What powers it? What-"

"Mr. Stark," Rhodey held his hand up to quiet him, "those are a lot of questions I'm not sure I can answer."

"Oh, please, call me Howard," he waved his arm around, dismissing the use of his last name.

"I'm sorry," Rhodey said, sounding not at all apologetic, "but I will continue to refer to you as Mr. Stark. You see, I don't like you. But apparently you're useful. So I'll hide my contempt." Howard was rightly taken aback by that, and Rhodey suppressed a grin.

"I," he raised his eyebrows, "I'm useful?"

"For now." Rhodey said cryptically, finally allowing a grin to tease across his face. He turned to Natasha, "Tony? Where is he?"

"His suite, with Steve and Bruce," she nodded toward the door. "Go ahead, we can hold down the fort. I found another bottle of vodka."

Rhodey gave her a confused look, deepening it when both Clint and Howard groaned. "Right. I'll talk to you later."

He turned on his heels, happy to get away from Howard and more than ready to see exactly how this entire situation was affecting his friend.

Bruce was just leaving as he approached, and Rhodey nodded his hello, "Dr. Banner."

"Colonel Rhodes, good to see you." Bruce shook his head in confusion, "I didn't know you were coming."

"Barton called me. Is Tony all right?"

Bruce let out a hollow laugh, "He's dealing, if that's what you mean. But he's a mess. You know he hides it well."

Rhodey respected Bruce. Not just as a scientist or as an Avenger, but as Tony's other best friend. He held no misgivings for Tony taking on another one, it actually helped to ease Rhodey's mind a little. He was so often out of the country or otherwise engaged that he wasn't always able to talk Tony down or be there physically for him. Bruce had stepped up to that plate.

He found an easy camaraderie with him as well. They had a similar goal, the same interest. They both loved Tony fiercely, and on the occasions Bruce and Rhodey were alone together, the genius was often the topic of discussion. Rhodey doubted he'd be friends with Bruce otherwise, but he did genuinely like the man. Despite the whole Hulk thing. But if Tony trusted him, then Rhodey trusted him.

"That he does," Rhodey chuckled affectionately. "What's he doing?"

Bruce gave a long suffering sigh, "You know. The usual. Desperately grasping at any levity he can find. Joking around, making inappropriate jokes about his and Steve's sex life, not mentioning the giant elephant in the room…"

"Ah yes," Rhodey smirked knowingly, "the usual."

"He'll be happy to see you."

"Of course he will, I'm me."

Bruce laughed outright at that. "You two are more similar than I think you like to admit, Rhodes."

Rhodey dismissed that with a flip of his hand. "And Rogers? How's he doing with all this?"

"Somehow hiding it better, but he's a mess as well. You're definitely needed, though neither will admit it."

"So it's like the blind leading the blind?" Rhodey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn't always been so supportive of the relationship. Steve was like a thorn in his side for a time. _Self-righteous, pompous,_ _arrogant,_ and _a goody-two-shoes_ were only some of the words he had used to describe him. Before he had met the man, back when Captain America was still just a legend who died heroically, Rhodey had looked up to him, had wanted to _be_ like him. When Tony had told him that not only was Steve found but _alive_ he had been overjoyed at the chance of meeting one of his heroes. Being best friends with Tony Stark had its perks, after all.

But then Tony had told him about their first meetings. What Steve had said to him. And, damn, if that glass hadn't shattered loudly.

He had accepted it when Tony was becoming friends with him. It made sense if they were going to work together, but a romantic relationship? That hit hard. And Rhodey was _not_ okay with it. Steve Rogers was _not good enough_ for his best friend. No way in hell. He was certain that Tony was on a path that could only lead to him getting his heart broken. But the months wore on, and they grew stronger together as a couple, and Rhodey found himself starting to like the Star Spangled Man. He brought out the best in Tony and guided him through his worst. He was there for him, loved him unconditionally, and, honestly, was one of the best drinking buddies Rhodey ever had. He could pound them back and never get sloppy. It was nice to have a second set of hands to get Tony to bed after a night spent binge drinking like they were still in college.

It was also nice to know that Tony had someone to wake up next to. Someone who wouldn't leave in the middle of the night and take his favorite Rolex with them.

Bruce was patting him on the back, "Blind leading the blind is an understatement."

"You could say that again."

With a smile, Bruce started down the hallway, "They'll be all right. Good luck in there, anyway."

Rhodey rolled his eyes, signing at the ceiling, "Thanks for the vote of confidence." He knocked, three quick raps on the door, before keying in his personal code. He could go anywhere he wanted in the tower, another perk of being Tony Stark's best friend.

"Anytime!" Bruce's voice called back as he disappeared into his own room. Rhodey chuckled as he pushed open the door.

Steve was striding across the room, a file in his hand, as Rhodey entered. "You know," he laughed softly as he caught sight of him, "you're supposed to wait until someone answers the door before walking in."

"Who is it?" Tony called from the kitchen, his voice filled with unease.

The smile died on Rhodey's face as he traded a concerned glance with Steve. "It's me!" He called back, walking to the doorway of the galley-styled kitchen and leaning in.

"Honeybear!" Tony's face lit up, and Rhodey had to force a smile. It was glaringly obvious that what Bruce had said was true. Tony was grasping at any light he could find. Not that Rhodey wouldn't put a smile on his face any other day, but there was something forced about this one. It was earnest, but also hopeful in a way that had his heart sinking. "What brings you here? You just missed breakfast - Bruce made pancakes and they were just perfection, as usual, of course. But especially delicious today. There's some leftovers in the fridge, I could heat them up for you. Do you want coffee? I'll make you coffee. Or would you rather tea?" He had been loading the dishwasher but paused to speak, a sticky looking plate flailing around as he gestured. "I don't know, you switch back and forth between the two depending on how much shit you got to do, and tea is great, don't get me wrong, but coffee is like the nectar of the gods. Do you want tea? You look like you want tea today. Bruce turned me onto Darjeeling, it's incredible, but I like it with half and half, I know you usually take yours with no cream-"

"Tony, Barton called me in." Rhodey felt his stomach twisting with every word Tony had said. He was babbling, and didn't that just say it all? Tony could babble with the best of them, but there was usually a point. This was sheer deflection.

"-But I think this one is better with it and- what?"

Stepping into the kitchen, Rhodey pulled him into a hug. Tony was stiff but went with it, his hands frozen midair. Rhodey could smell the sickly sweet of the syrup from the plate. "He told me what was going on," Rhodey held him tighter, "said he thought you'd need me here."

Steve took the plate from Tony's hands, setting his file down and taking over the dishes. Rhodey was grateful for him as Tony started to tremble, just a little, as his facade started to crack.

"Clint called you?" The voice was too little to belong to Tony Stark.

"Yeah," Rhodey softly whispered, bringing his hand up to cup the back of Tony's head to bring him closer.

Tony struggled weakly for only a moment. They weren't usually so affectionate. But if there was one thing Rhodey had learned throughout his years of knowing him, it was that when Tony felt off, he needed the contact. It grounded him in ways nothing else could.

Two shaking arms finally wound their way around Rhodey's chest, and Tony let his head fall to his best friend's shoulder. "I don't know what to do." The admission was quiet and unsure, and Rhodey felt his heart break a little. Tony never admitted to not knowing what to do in any situation. Most of the time, he made it up as he went along.

"It's okay, Tones. You don't have to have all the answers right now."

Steve kept his voice soft when he spoke next, not wanting to startle Tony. "Why don't you guys go to the living room; I'll put the kettle on."

Tony laughed. It was quiet, and not his usual robust and hearty bark, but it was real. That set Rhodey at ease. "You'll put the kettle on?" He lifted his head from Rhodey's shoulder to stare at him. "What are you? British? Are you Captain United Kingdom now?"

Steve swatted at his bottom. "Go!" But he was laughing, his eyes crinkling up.

"Hey!" Rhodey chastised, pulling Tony around so he was out of Steve's reach, "Don't be touching my best friend's butt when I'm holding him! That's all sorts of wrong!"

Tony was hiding his face and _giggling_. He was far too adorable when he wanted to be. No wonder people couldn't help but fall in love with him.

Over Tony's head, Steve mouthed, " _Thank you._ " And Rhodey nodded. Mission accomplished for now. They had brought Tony back from the edge together. Again.

_By our powers combined…!_

Maybe Rhodey hadn't always approved of the relationship, but these days, he could think of no one better for Tony to be in love with.

\---

The kettle started to whistle as Steve was finishing wiping the table down. He was trying to give Tony and Rhodey some space, knowing how important it was for the two of them to reconnect without him there.

It wasn't always easy to keep himself away like that, especially given what they were currently going through. Steve and Rhodey didn't exactly hit it off at first, and sometimes he found it hard to let that go. But any healthy relationship needed space, and Rhodey deserved time with his best friend that didn't involve his significant other.

Throwing the dirty rag into the sink, Steve removed the kettle from the stove and pulled out three teacups and saucers from the built in hutch in the cabinets. It had entertained him to no end when he first saw it, that Tony would have a proper bone China tea set, particularly in a cute floral pattern, and especially because Tony was all about giant mugs for his coffee. But the set had belonged to his mother, and her mother before that. It contrasted with everything else in the kitchen, but somehow, that worked.

The delicate blue and pink flowers that edged around the cups and the rest of the set looked ridiculous when you only saw them set against the modern steel and contemporary kitchen, but like Tony, if you took a step back and appreciated it as a whole, the small wonder of classic beauty was breathtaking. Something soft mingled with the harder futuristic world. Steve adored them.

The engraved silver platter was an heirloom as well, and Steve filled it with the cups, their saucers, and the matching sugar bowl and milk container. He filled the teapot with boiling water from the kettle and measured out the right amount of loose tea into the strainers, dropping them in and covering the pot. All done with a surgical precision honed from too many battles and too much need for detail.

He could hear Tony and Rhodey talking quietly, his incredible hearing picking up on words here and there through the clanging of the cabinets and the rattling of china against china. He wasn't trying to eavesdrop, he just couldn't help it.

"...Howard being here?"

"I don't really…feels…Steve said…I'm worried…"

"...With the way you were raised…hope you know…worth more than that…"

Steve swallowed. Tony was worried about him? Jeez, he needed to get his act together if he was going to properly care for him during this, and that sent a flare of anger up through his body.

Leaning onto the counter, Steve gripped the edge and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt any lingering respect and friendship he had for Howard slip away. Even the memories of laughing with him and Peggy couldn't save how he felt. It was almost as if Steve had been holding a photo of Howard and it had melted slowly over his relationship with Tony, and within the last hour, had disintegrated completely. All at once, the man he knew became a stranger.

And it infuriated Steve to no end.

He had to hide it. Had to push down the aggression he felt growing inside of him. Tony needed him to be stable. He needed to be an oak tree, rooted deep, to weather the storm. But Steve wasn't sure he could keep up the facade. He didn't know if he could remain in any way impartial, fake or not.

He had to try.

Steve pulled a small serving dish from the cabinet and filled it with butter cookies. He arranged the rest to fit the platter and picked the tray up before cursing softly to himself and setting it back down. He'd forgotten the spoons and napkins. His fault, really, for listening more than doing.

Conversation was still swirling through his attempts to block it. Louder now that Tony was sounding more upset.

"I don't know _how_ I'm supposed to feel."

"You don't have to know, Tones, I said it before and I'll say it again, you don't have to have all the right answers right now."

"I keep thinking it's a joke, like hey! Let's fuck with Tony Stark again! Because the universe hates me."

"Hey, stop doing that." There was a rustle of the leather couch as Rhodey moved. "Stop picking at your fingers, Tony."

That was Steve's cue. If Tony was pulling at the skin around his nails, it meant his anxiety was up higher than he could hide. He'd need both of them now.

He grabbed a fist full of napkins and three teaspoons, shoving them into the front pocket of his hoodie and lifted the tray. "Tea time!" He called, walking into the living room and speaking with an over the top posh accent. "Served by Captain United Kingdom!"

The joke garnered a small smile from Tony, and Steve froze when he saw the tears that had gathered in his eyes. Shit.

"Hey, hey, babe…" Steve put the tray on the coffee table and knelt in front of Tony. He was worrying at his cuticles again, and Steve took one of his hands into his own, stopping it.

Tony sniffed, "I'm sorry, I'm being fucking ridiculous." Bringing up his free hand, he wiped at his eyes, refusing to let them spill over. Because _God forbid_ Tony allowed himself to cry it out once in a while.

Rhodey put his arm around Tony and pulled him close. "This is a fucked up situation, Tony, you don't have to be all macho about it, you know."

Steve tugged Tony's hand up to kiss it and used his other to cup Tony's face. "What he said."

But Tony shook his head, looking angry with himself. "Stark men are made of iron."

It was a phrase all of them had heard at one point or another. Something Howard had screamed at him constantly while growing up. Steve hated it. It renewed his fury at the elder Stark, and he felt frustration start to bubble up within him.

Taking a deep breath, he quelled his temper. Now was not the time. Outwardly, he softened his voice and forced his face to relax. Tony was too close to breaking down; Steve didn't want him thinking his own rage was directed at him. "You don't have to be Iron Man all the time, angel."

"Why is this upsetting me?" he exploded. "Why do I even care that he's here? I didn't need him then, and I sure as fuck don't need him now!"

"Oh, Tony," Steve whispered, getting to his feet and sitting next to him. He tugged the afghan from the back of the couch and wrapped it around his shoulders. It was time for maximum comfort (patent pending), and he pulled Tony's legs over his lap, drawing him close enough to wrap his arms around him.

Tony didn't fight it. Normally their cuddling was a cute way to either sleep or watch a movie, and most of the time it ended in sex. They rarely had the need to snuggle for comfort. Tony was far too independent for that. But there were times…

He tucked his head under Steve's chin, curling up and picking at his fingers again. Steve wondered at how young Tony could look sometimes. How much did his lack of childhood mess him up? How much of that loss of innocence flooded into the adult he loved so deeply it sometimes hurt. "Tony," Steve tried, pulling the offending hand away. Tony made a small sound of protest, but when Steve wouldn't let go of his hand, he turned more into Steve's chest, and huffed in irritation. It barely concealed his distress.

Rhodey adjusted on the couch and rubbed soothing circles on his back. "I hate this." His voice was quiet and agitated, and Steve knew he wasn't just referring to the situation, but of Tony feeling so off that he was easily accepting blatant comfort in view of other people. Sure, it was Steve and Rhodey and they saw sides to Tony no one else did, but when it came down to it, the genius didn't like to have an audience. That he was so readily accepting of it, that he was so distraught to begin with…

Swallowing past the lump in his own throat, Steve pulled the blanket tighter around Tony. "What are we going to do?"

Rhodey was quiet for a few minutes, working something out through his jaw. Steve waited him out.

"Natasha mentioned something," his eyes flickered from Tony up to Steve, unsure. "I'm not exactly on board with it, but I'm not totally opposed either."

Steve made an inquiring sound, letting his chin rest on Tony's head.

Rhodey twitched, his indecision clear. "She thinks we should…" Biting the inside of his cheek, he studied Tony's prone form before pressing on. "She thinks we should encourage a reconciliation."

"What?" Steve tensed. He could feel Tony's hand clutching his shirt tightly. Oh no, no way. "That's insane. No. Bad idea."

"I don't know, Steve. The idea had merit."

"I don't care how much merit it has, I'm not upsetting him more than necessary."

"He's right here, you know," came the grumbled response from Steve's lap.

Steve shot a glare at Rhodey, but it was weak. With a sigh, he kissed the top of Tony's head, "I'm sorry, love. We shouldn't be talking about you like you're not even here."

Sitting up, Tony placed a chaste kiss to Steve's lips and swung his feet off his lap. "Okay, enough babying me."

"Tony," Steve groaned, letting him sit up but not releasing him, "we're not babying you."

"Then what was that?" He gestured to Steve's lap, "Not that I don't like sitting on you, just prefer it when we're naked." He was deflecting again, and Steve let him.

"I don't need to hear that, man." Dropping his head into his hands, Rhodey laughed. "Price I pay for being your friend," he smacked Tony's shoulder, "I know way too much about your sex life."

Steve felt his face split into a grin, as Tony chuckled, "I know you live vicariously through me."

"No, no way. I'm not touching that one with a ten foot pole."

"Speaking of ten foot poles-"

"Tony!" Rhodey fell back against the couch, letting his head drop back. "I rue the day I met you."

"Lies and slander." Turning quick, he took advantage of Rhodey's distraction and swept his legs up, depositing them in his best friend's lap and leaning heavily against Steve. Rhodey side-glanced him but made no move to shove him off.

"You're annoying."

Tony adjusted himself so he was slightly on his side, tucking himself under Steve's arm. "All part of my charm."

"Anyway," Rhodey began, letting his hands fall on Tony's knees, far too used to Tony to even react, "I think Agent Romanoff might have a point."

Steve tightened his hold on Tony but said nothing. He could talk about it with Tony later on, but he at least could let Rhodey have his word. No matter how wrong it was. Because no way in hell did Howard deserve even an ounce of pity. He didn't deserve redemption or a second chance or-

"He doesn't even know who I am."

Sometimes Steve doubted Howard ever knew Tony at all.

"Not yet," Rhodey answered, "but he's no idiot. If we don't tell him, he'll figure it out."

"Wait a second." So, maybe Steve couldn't _not_ say anything. "We already have the problem of Howard going back knowing too much and going back in general, because that's kinda important in case you guys missed the memo."

"Taken care of," Rhodey shrugged, "she said she might know a way to erase his memory of this."

"Which is fantastic," Steve shot back, "except we also don't know how to get him home, if you didn't hear me the first time."

Tony craned his neck, looking up at Steve, "Thor?"

"A possibility, but we have no way to contact him. We have to wait until he gets back on earth." Steve shifted, the weight of the problem at hand making him uncomfortable. "Nat said that Howard stole some book of spells. But he doesn't know how to get back, which tells me that the book might be useless if we even find it."

"We gotta try."

Rhodey drummed out a beat on Tony's knees, a contemplative look on his face. "Where would we even start?"

"I mean, I guess we can get the assassin twins on it. Or clue in someone from SHIELD that we can trust to keep their mouths shut," Steve supplied.

"Regardless," sitting up straight, Rhodey made sure he had Tony's full attention before continuing, "the more I think about it, the more I think she's right. This is a rare opportunity, Tones." Tony looked uneasy but gestured for Rhodey to go on. "I only met the guy briefly on the way in, but from what Romanoff and Barton said, he's not a monster yet."

"So what?" Steve snapped, "He's a jackass!" This was insane. No way could Tony's best friend be recommending this. Steve felt himself starting to boil. "He _abused_ Tony, Rhodes, you probably know that better than me. You've actually _met_ the man!"

"Like twice, Rogers, and that doesn't count!"

"The hell it doesn't count! You've seen what he did to him! You were there to witness it first hand!"

Rhodey sat forward in a challenge, "And you're dating Tony! You get to sleep next to him _now_ and see the nightmares he gets! I shared a dorm with him when he was a teenager, you share a _bed_ with him!"

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Steve bit out vehemently, "So we both have had to calm Tony down after a nightmare about his piece of garbage father, if anything that proves my point!"

"Which means we _both_ should know that him getting some form of closure is what's best for him!"

Steve was starting to see red. "Right, let's make someone who was abused _relive his trauma!"_

"Hey!" Tony stiffened and sat up, pulling from Steve's grasp harshly. "You're talking like I'm not here again!" Standing, he shrugged off Steve's attempt to tug him back down and moved away from them, his eyes hard and angry.

Steve felt his heart drop. Tony had every right to be mad. They were bickering and yelling like he wasn't there. They couldn't have screwed up any worse if Howard had actually been in the room.

"Don't call me abused, damn it. Just don't!" Tony stepped to the other side of the coffee table and turned on his heels to face them. He had put space in between himself and the two people he was supposed to be able to trust the most. That hurt more than Steve wanted to admit. "I'm not some damn charity case! There's no need to call in Benson and Stabler," pointing to himself, he snapped viciously, "not a special victim. And I'd appreciate it if you both could, I don't know, let the genius in the room make the decision about how he handles his _own_ problems in his _own_ life?"

Rhodey looked down, ashamed of himself, and Steve could barely meet Tony's eyes.

All of this after Tony had curled up on Steve's lap on the verge of tears. They were supposed to be comforting him. Protecting him. Instead, they had been coddling him - no matter how much Tony had needed it - and spoke for him like he was incapable of independent thought. They should have known he wouldn't want it. Steve knew this, damn it, he knew Tony didn't like to be babied, that as much comfort as he allowed himself to receive he needed to counteract it in some way.

And then they had argued. Fought about him. Like it was the beginning of his and Steve's relationship and every get-together with Rhodey ended with some misguided shovel talk and an argument about what was best for him.

"You're right," Rhodey admitted. "Tony, you're right. This is your decision. Just hear me out, okay, man? Okay?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Tony nodded. "Fine. But I get to eat as many cookies as I want." Lord knew how he did it, how he was able to push aside his frustration with the two of them and crack a joke like nothing had happened to begin with.

But Steve wasn't about to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth. He snorted and lifted the plate from the tray, "Have at it." He was just glad Tony was calming. Pissing Tony off on top of everything was grounds for making Steve sleep on the couch, not that he wouldn't deserve it. Regardless of how much Tony fought to be so independent and _I don't need no man_ , Steve knew it was imperative that he was there for him.

"Actually, yes. Stevie made this lovely, and very British tea for us, like the wonderful homemaker he is, and we should drink it." Rhodey was trying to diffuse the tension, and Steve had to admit he was good at it.

"Don't be jealous, James, it's not a good look on you." Steve leaned forwards and picked up one of the teacups, playing along.

"Jealous of what? Your tea making capabilities? Make a proper cucumber sandwich and then we'll talk." Rhodey quipped, picking up the teapot and pouring them each a cup. He made a show of it, like he was a Japanese geisha and not a military man.

Tony groaned, narrowing his eyes and looking confused for all of a second before giving in and snatching a cookie from the proffered plate. "Platypus, you don't even like cucumbers." He smiled coyly, "I like cucumbers. Different types too. Particularly Steve's." He turned slightly to point at Steve with an innocent smile.

Rhodey's face dissolved into one of disgust, "I try not to think of my little brother having sex, thanks. That includes any discussion on Steve's…junk."

"I can't even be mad," Tony said around a mouth full of cookies, "I've been torturing him for years with the lascivious details of my _active_ boudoir escapades." The air around them thinned, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

"Why does every conversation with you end up revolving around sex?"

Tony shrugged, looking at Rhodey with a glint in his eyes. "Have we met, dear Rhododendron?"

Conceding, Rhodey fixed his tea and beckoned Tony back to the couch. "Sit back down, we promise we won't do it again."

"Yeah, you will." But Tony still sat, taking his own tea and dunking another cookie in it. "It's cold," he complained.

"You put too much milk in it."

"Whatever." He turned to face Rhodey. "So, let's say we can erase his memory and send his ass back home. You think _somehow_ I can, what? Fix forty-three years of conditioning and be all hunky dory?"

"No," Rhodey said slowly, "I don't think it's going to be that easy at all. But it's worth a shot, right?"

"I guess."

"I know the circumstances are wild, I know at the end of everything that's happened in your life and his, that you're both just ordinary men. We all are. And it's never going to be simple." Gently, Rhodey put his hand on Tony's forearm, aware that the truce between them all was tentative at best at the moment. "Believe me, Tones, I wish, fuck, I know _we both wish_ that this could be easy on you. But it's not."

Tony sighed, setting his cup back down. The delicate china clincked against its saucer, a cutting sound that sliced through their thoughts.

"It never is."

\---

Tony stayed comfortably squashed between his two favorite bookends for a little longer before Rhodey had to leave. He had seen him to the door, watching enviously as the War Machine armor assembled around him. As much as he wanted to escape to the skies, he knew - barring a call to assemble - that he was too emotional to navigate the suit. He could put JARVIS in charge, of course, but half the fun was flying himself.

Howard sat at the bar, idly swirling a scotch and soda and watching with unveiled fascination as the armor assembled around Rhodey. Tony studiously ignored him.

_"I'll be back as soon as I can,"_ Rhodey had said, hugging Tony tightly, _"Keep your head up. I'm only a phone call away."_ Tony was missing him already.

Steve had gathered Natasha and Clint to the far end of the room, and they stood, whispering in hurried voices. Every so often, one of them would look up at either Tony or Howard. It didn't take being a genius to deduce exactly what the topic of conversation was, and the hairs on the back of Tony's neck prickled in annoyance. He understood it was necessary, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

When Rhodey was a dot in the sky, he turned away from the glass and announced to the room, "I'm going to see Bruce. And no, I don't need an escort." He looked pointedly at Steve.

"Am I ever going to meet this Bruce?" Howard leaned back, dropping his head to look at Tony. He looked ridiculous.

"No."

"You're in a good mood."

"Just keep drinking, Howie. It'll solve all your problems." Tony felt nothing of the compassion he had felt that morning. His gut felt cinched. He was spent. Exhausted emotionally and physically and just not up to verbally sparring or showing any more care. It just took too much out of him.

Howard raised his eyebrows. "And here I thought we bonded over pancakes."

He wasn't being fair. He knew that. Howard had no idea why he was so hated. Could Tony really punish him for something that hadn't transpired yet? He rubbed his forehead. It was barely seven in the evening and he was ready for bed. Ready to curl up with Steve and just sleep. To forget everything for a few hours.

"I'm sorry, Howard. It's been a long day. Just…" Tony was at a loss. There was no quip ready, no joke or retort sitting at the forefront of his mind. He dropped his hand, nodded once, and left the room.

He could feel four pairs of eyes follow him out, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

Bruce was in his lab, like he expected him to be, but he wasn't working on anything. Not that Tony could tell anyway, but he was splayed out in his desk chair, swiveling back and forth, his head thrown back, looking bored.

Tony knocked on the glass, waving idiotically when Bruce lifted his head to see who was at the door. He plastered on his best media smile and entered when Bruce gestured him inside. "Brucie Bear!"

Cocking an eyebrow, Bruce used his foot to pull out a stool for him to sit on. "Cut the act, Tony."

Tony sat, dropping his facade with a frown. "That obvious?"

"Like glitter after a lap dance."

That made Tony tilt his head and smile. "Nice one."

"Not that I know from personal experience, but you are a rather detailed storyteller." Standing, Bruce motioned to the mini-fridge in the corner. "Thirsty?"

"Water, if you have it. Please," he added as an afterthought. No need to be rude. He caught the bottle as Bruce tossed it, chugging it halfway down in one go.

Taking his seat again, Bruce played with the label on his own bottle, peeling it and fidgeting. "Rhodey leave?"

"Yeah, just now."

"You okay?" Tony sent him a loaded glance. "Right. Stupid question." With a sigh, Bruce let his head fall back again. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm bored."

"Wanna blow something up?"

That got Bruce's attention. "You know what? Yes. Yes, I want to blow something up. I'm trapped here or in my room until Howard vanishes back into the abyss, and you know what? I would _love_ to blow something up."

"I love you."

"I'll be sure not to mention that to Steve."

Tony kicked out at him lazily, his foot missing its target and flopping to the floor. "Clint will probably be game. And he can fly the jet."

"I suppose blowing something up in the tower would be counterproductive."

Snorting, Tony pulled out his phone and started texting. _Want to make something go boom? Jet in 20._ Out loud, he said, "Yeah, no, I know the owner. He's kinda a dick, and he frowns upon that."

It wasn't strictly _legal_ , but honestly, who was going to tell Tony Stark he couldn't use a bunch of chemicals he found under his kitchen sink to make a bomb. No one got hurt and the black scorch marks in the middle of the meadow were the only clues as to who was there.

Bruce held out the drain cleaner, chuckling as Clint _whooped_ around them in circles. He grinned at Tony. "Again? For science?"

Tony didn't hesitate. He mixed the cleaners and solvents with an expert hand. "This is dedicated to every winner of every science fair _ever_!"

Clint threw his arms out and screamed to the sky. "For science!"

It was a perfect release. Throwing his head back, Tony howled, joined a moment later by Clint. Two adult men - superheroes at that - howling at the moon. He was sure the press would have a field day. But rule number one of illegal explosions: Turn off all electronics. Rules numbered two through eight-hundred-and-sixty-four: Don't talk about Fight Club.

Tony took those rules very seriously.

"For science!" Bruce repeated, giggling like a schoolgirl as he helped Tony place the homemade bomb in the center of the blackened ring.

"FOR SCIENCE!" All three voices rang out as they ran back to the tree line, ducking just in time and laughing the whole way.

Tony threw his fist in the air. "They may take our Drain-o, but they will never take our science!"

The responding boom echoed through the air and was sure, Tony knew, to give the FBI and Fury an exercise in patience in the days to come.

But only the animals knew who was there. And they weren't telling.

\---

By the time they returned to the tower, it was after midnight and Tony had fallen asleep in his seat. Bruce poked him. Clint shook him. Neither worked. He was out like a kid after a birthday party, and they couldn't blame him.

"Poor thing," Clint stage whispered, leaning his elbow on Bruce's shoulder. "Plum tuckered out."

"Like a little baby."

Sighing dramatically, Clint let his head drop onto Bruce's. "They grow up so fast."

Bruce snorted. "We should call Steve. There's no way we're getting him into the tower, and he can't sleep out here."

"Daddy needs to come bring his baby to bed."

Bruce's nose crinkled in disgust. "There was a line, Barton."

"Fuck. Shit. Yeah, bad joke. Can I take that back?"

"No way. That's out in the universe now." Pulling his phone from his pocket, Bruce hit his speed dial.

"I feel dirty."

"You should." He took an exaggerated step away from Clint, holding the phone up his ear as it rang.

"Don't tell Steve!"

" _Shhhh!"_

Steve answered on the fifth ring, _"Bruce? What's up? Please tell me I don't have to bail out my boyfriend."_

"Now, why would you think that? We did nothing illegal!" He had to smack Clint's arm when the archer burst out into a fit of giggles.

_"Uh huh. Which is why I saw the three of you sneaking out with bags full of cleaners."_

"We surely have no idea what you're talking about." Bruce smacked Clint again as his giggle fit increased in volume.

_"Just tell me Tony still has all his fingers? Toes? Appendages?"_ He could hear the exasperation in Steve's voice.

"All accounted for."

_"And the other two mad scientists?"_

"All whole. Though one is deaf."

At this point, Clint was laughing so hard he had fallen to his knees. Bruce himself was finding it hard to not dissolve into his own fit of giggles. He didn't remember the last time he had so much fun. And the Other Guy had been content to watch. Huh. He'd have to study that.

_"Then why are you calling me, Banner?"_ Steve's patience was obviously wearing thin, but Bruce still couldn't help but laugh.

"The love of your life is currently dead asleep on the Quinjet."

_"Are you kidding me?"_

Bruce tried, he really did, to sound serious. "I never kid, Captain Rogers."

Steve audibly sighed. _"Gimme five."_

"Make it four."

_"Are you drunk?"_

Bruce snorted in the most unattractive way. "Not even a little. Unless you count being drunk on science."

"For science!" Clint bellowed. Bruce jumped, but Tony didn't stir.

"Well, that didn't wake him."

_"Five minutes. Bye, Bruce."_ He hung up before Bruce could say his own goodbye.

"Think we're in trouble with El Capitan."

Clint clunked down next to Tony and started undoing his seatbelt. "So? What else is new? Welcome to the dark side, Dr. Banner."

"I heard you guys have cookies."

"You know, baking is basically chemistry."

Bruce tilted his head at that, "I'll keep that in mind."

"What I'm saying is, it wouldn't be remiss if the dark side also had cake. Specifically, your cake." Tony was listing to the side, and Clint gently propped him up.

"You only like me for what I can cook for you."

"You can also make things go boom."

Sitting on the other side of Tony, Bruce gave a short chuckle, "That was all him," he pointed at the sleeping man, "I don't usually _purposefully_ make things blow up. That's Tony's wheelhouse."

"And he's so good at it." Clint pretended to wipe a tear, "I get emotional just thinking about it."

"Steve's ticked though."

"We did something highly illegal, of course he's pissed." Clint's hands flew up in his gesture, almost knocking Tony over.

"Careful!" Bruce chastised lightly, "Or we lose our explosives genius." His smile was friendly, showing Clint he was just teasing.

Tony was curled up on his side, his head tucked down, and Clint smiled sheepishly at Bruce, patting Tony's arm awkwardly. The genius made a soft sound, adjusting himself minutely. "Wouldn't want that." He kept his voice low but still filled with his usual brand of cheek. "And it was dangerous - though in the most fun of ways - which means we put the love of Steve's life in peril."

Bruce huffed, shooting Clint an incredulous glance, "It was _his_ idea!"

"We're _enabling_ him, or some sort of psycho-babble."

"That's true. Steve can be a bit, ah, overprotective."

Snorting loudly, Clint tilted his head back against the wall of the quinjet. "That's the understatement of the year."

"Tony does have a certain _proclivity_ for getting himself into trouble." He eyed Tony's face, so deeply asleep he had no idea of the conversation around him. He just looked so _innocent_ like this. Maybe it was the fact that his mouth wasn't running. Or maybe it was because the stresses of his life smoothed out when he was sleeping. Whatever it was, when Tony slept, Bruce sometimes forgot that this was a middle-aged man with a whole lot of baggage. "He needs it," he said at last.

"What do you mean?"

Bruce shrugged, "Someone to take care of him? I think it's good that it's Steve."

"Even when Steve's probably going to tear us a new one?"

"Now, why would I do that?"

Clint visibly gulped, trading one last look with Bruce before turning to his captain. "Because… we took such good care of Tony that he'll rather be with us!"

They received a rather fierce glare in response, but it softened just as quickly. "Did he at least have fun?"

"It was a, uh," Clint's face lit up mischievously, "a blast, you could say."

What could Bruce do other than groan and drop his head into his hands? Clint really needed to learn not to bait angry people. Particularly the variety of angry people who knew that they had just endangered the life of his significant other.

"Banner, Barton, I'm serious. Don't do this again."

"I don't know what-"

Bruce covered Clint's mouth. "We won't, Steve. But you know as well as I do that Tony needed this. Hell, _I needed this_."

Resigned, Steve nodded. "I know. But you're not the one who's going to have to deal with Fury if he finds out." It was almost comical how easily Steve scooped Tony up, and even more so when Tony let out probably the cutest sleepy whimper any of them ever heard and _snuggled_ into Steve.

Clint was vibrating with barely concealed laughter. "Barton," Bruce warned as they stood up, "let it go." The noises Clint was making sounded like a car sputtering to a stop. Steve looked wholly unamused.

"I… can't…!"

"Clinton!"

"So… adorable…!"

A well placed elbow to the ribs had Clint doubled over, but all it did was help him misplace whatever control he had. He lost it, giggling and laughing so hard tears started to stream down his face. "Clint!" But the euphoria of the night hadn't worn off of Bruce either, and he felt his face split open into a wide grin. "Barton, conceal! Don't feel!"

It didn't help. Not that Bruce had meant it to. Steve wouldn't actually kill them. There was a lecture in their future, _surely_ , but no bodily damage. Which meant that Bruce was free to collapse with Clint back into the seats, laughing and snorting like children.

"Earth's mightiest heroes, my ass." Steve glowered, and turned, holding tightly to Tony and walking off the jet.

"Did he just-?!"

"Language, Captain! Our poor virgin ears!"

Steve ignored them, which Bruce didn't blame him for. Adjusting Tony in his arms, he walked out. Bruce watched him go, a soft smile playing on his lips. He bumped Clint's shoulder. "How long do you think we're grounded for?"

Clint grunted his laugh in response. "How's it feel to be on Cap's bad side?"

"Invigorating," Bruce replied dryly. "Not sure I'd like to be there again, but I will say that tonight was fun."

"Fuck yeah, it was."

"Come on," Bruce slapped Clint's knee and stood, "let's head inside. It's definitely past my bedtime."

Steve was waiting by the door when they walked up, an embarrassed grin on his face. "I, uh, didn't think this through." With his elbow, he gestured to the closed door.

"Oho! Who's the man with a plan now!?" Running ahead, Clint opened the door, sweeping his arms in a grand movement for Steve to walk in. "Watch his head, Steve-o! That's a billion dollar brain in there!"

Steve didn't even grace that with an answer, not that Bruce expected him to. As much as they had teased, he knew Steve was close to the edge concerning the entire Howard situation. And who _wouldn't_ be in his position?

"Need me to get the door to his suite?"

Steve looked at Bruce appreciatively. "My room, please. Tony's sheets need to be changed."

"Oh, do they now?" Sauntering. Clint was sauntering past them and Bruce just shook his head.

"Grow up, Barton."

"Never!" He was down the hallway and gone before either Steve or Bruce could respond.

"Come on." Taking a few steps, Bruce turned and motioned for Steve to follow, "I'll lead the way." He held the door open as Steve entered and turned on the overhead light in the kitchen so he could see where he was walking. "Don't be mad at Tony." He said quietly, pulling back the covers so Steve could lay Tony down.

"I'm not." Together, they worked off Tony's sneakers and socks, though Bruce let Steve tug his pants off. He folded and placed them on the dresser as Steve somehow managed to get the sweater Tony wore off over his head. "I'm not exactly happy you three decided to go galavanting around blowing things up, but..." Pausing, Steve kicked off his own pants and grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms he had discarded when they woke him up. "But," he continued, tugging them on and tying the drawstring, "I can understand that Tony needed it. And you."

"We did."

"Not sure what Clint got out of it though." Laying back against the pillows, Steve reached over to slide Tony closer, tucking his arm around him and pulling him to his chest. Tony settled in without even waking. It was a testament to his complete trust of Steve, and that was nice to see, even if Bruce _was_ a little envious.

"Clint got a few hours of fun in with two mad scientists." He waited until Steve had pulled the blankets up before clicking off the light. "See you in the morning, Steve."

"Night, Bruce."

He was halfway across the kitchen, set on getting a glass of water from the filtered tap before bed when Howard popped his head out of the guest room.

"You must be Bruce!"

He froze. "Uh. Hi. Look, listen, this isn't a good idea." Slowly, he started to back up, the Other Guy stirring in his mind. _Who is new guy?_ Using every bit of strength he had, Bruce pushed him back.

"Because of some giant green thing?" Leaving the doorway, Howard moved right into his space. "You don't seem dangerous."

"Howard, no! You need to back up!" The Other Guy didn't like people in Bruce's face, and though he tried, he felt his control slipping. _He man who hurt Tin Man?!_

"Oh, come on, I'm harmless! Come and have a drink with me!" He threw his arms around Bruce's shoulder and tugged him toward the bar, but Bruce violently shrugged him off.

"Howard, stop it!"

"Bruce, just one drink! You'll see!" Howard moved to put his arm back around him. "I'm not a bad guy!"

"Get your hands off of him!"

Before Bruce could speak another word, Steve was in between him and Howard, and the Other Guy was sitting back on his haunches in his mind, watching curiously. At least that was one crisis averted.

"You know what, Steve," Howard snapped, standing up straight and getting into his face as best as he could with Steve towering over him. "I'm sick of your attitude. I'm sick of you hating me for shit I haven't done yet! I'm sick of-"

Steve _had_ turned away. He _had_ started to guide Bruce back to the hallway. Bruce knew Steve usually didn't like to react with violence unless he absolutely _had_ to. He knew that no matter how angry he got, Steve did his best to at least attempt diplomacy.

This wasn't one of those times.

But Bruce had to admit, seeing Howard fly back over the kitchen counter with the force of Steve's punch was wholly and wonderfully satisfying.

\---

Tony woke up warm and comfortable, his head pillowed on Steve's torso, the lull of his heartbeat soothing and rhythmic. He let his hand glide down Steve's chest feeling his skin, the curves to his muscles… and a familiar warmth started to build inside Tony. He grinned and let his hand trail further down, slipping into Steve's boxers and wrapping around his length.

"Well, good morning to you," Steve murmured, his arms tightening around Tony.

"Hiya, sexy pants!"

Steve laughed and kissed Tony's head. "Not that I don't want to be inside you," he let his own hands slide down Tony's back, "making you scream," his fingers dipped under the waistband of his boxers, "but I really need to pee."

With a laugh, Tony sat up, pulling his hand away. "Yeah, me too."

"To be continued." Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, Steve kissed Tony quickly and stood, hurrying to the bathroom.

"Last thing I remember, I was in the quinjet, Steven. How did I get into bed?" Standing, Tony stretched languidly, reaching up to the ceiling and flexing his fingers.

Steve emerged from the bathroom moments later, shaking his hands dry and grinning indulgently. "I carried you to bed."

"Why didn't you wake me?" He stepped forward, smacking Steve's butt as he passed, and smirking lasciviously, his hand stinging a bit because hey, that's America's Ass for you!

Steve swatted at him. "You were dead to the world."

"Then I wholly thank you for bringing me to bed. My hero." When he finished in the bathroom, Tony had every intention of stripping Steve and having his way with him. But as he stepped back into the bedroom, he found that Steve had beaten him to the punch. He was lounging in the bed, hands behind his head, naked as a jaybird.

"I see you're standing at attention, Soldier."

Steve snorted. "And you call me lame!"

Pulling off his shirt, Tony stepped further into the room, letting his hips sway in the way that had Steve's eyes following his every movement. "You _are_ lame."

"Am I?" From somewhere by his hip, Steve picked up a bottle of lube, popped it open, and slicked himself. "Am I still lame?"

"Uh huh." Tony's boxers fell to a puddle at his feet and he stepped out of them and keeled onto the bed, teasingly taking his time. "So lame. But I love you for it."

"You better." Steve's hand snaked around Tony's body, and the only tell to what he was doing was Tony's breathy gasp and the slow widening of knees.

"Promise."

"Come here, my love." Cupping Tony's bottom, he pulled him closer and Tony swung his left leg over Steve's body, reaching behind him to line Steve up.

"I love you. You'll always be my favorite loser."

Steve grinned, "Who you calling loser, doll?" And Tony sank down, moaning loudly.

"Who you calling doll, loser?"

Steve gave a jerk of his hips, grinning as Tony's head fell back. "You gonna argue with me over _nicknames_ right now?"

"No, fuck, no. Forget I said anything." Linking their hands together, Tony rolled his body, letting his eyes flutter closed as he felt Steve shift inside him.

"God, _Tony!"_

Tony used Steve's arms as leverage, anchoring himself through their clasped hands, and pushing up and down, his body rocking, and his legs trembling. "Steve," he let his head roll forwards, "fuck, Steve." His breath was coming quicker, the muscles in his abdomen flexing and releasing with each slide of his body.

Tony relished the sound of the bed knocking against the wall, how Steve's grunts and moans picked up in volume as he neared his release, and how his own body tightened. So close, so desperate to feel himself filled, so _wanting_ to spill himself all over Steve's stomach.

"Come for me, angel." Letting go of one of Tony's hands, Steve wrapped it around Tony, stroking in time with their movements. "Come on, love. Let go."

Tony quickened his pace, head and body curling forward as he worked his hips, thrusting into Steve's hand, and panting. "Oh, fuck," his rocking became stilted as he neared, then tumbled over the edge, his left hand splayed on Steve's chest, nails digging into the skin as he shook.

"That's it, baby, oh god, you're so beautiful like this. So perfect." Steve's hips stuttered, and he let go of Tony's hand and length to hold him down as he came, filling him completely.

As they slowed to a stop, Tony took hold of Steve's hands again, bringing first his left up to kiss, then his right. As he pulled it away, a flash of red caught his attention. "What's this?"

"What's what?"

"This!" Tony picked up Steve's hand, showing him the already healing bruises along the knuckles. "You punched someone. You punched- Damn it, Steve!" He was off him in an instant, running to the bathroom and wetting a washcloth, his movements jerky and annoyed. This was decidedly _not_ the post-coitus he envisioned for their morning rendezvous.

"Tony! Tony, wait, let me explain." Standing, Steve quickly wiped himself with his discarded shirt. He tossed it to the side and held his hands up, trying to calm Tony, to placate him.

"Explain what?" Tony snapped, rubbing the washcloth along his front before bringing it around to wipe his backside. "That you _hit_ my father?"

Steve stumbled into his pants, his face a mixture of guilt and pride. "I hit _your abuser!"_

"Stop calling him that!" Tony yelled, throwing the washcloth hard to the floor. "I was not abused! I'm not- I wasn't an abused child! He was an ass, that's it!"

"Jesus, Tony, are you listening to yourself?"

"Are you? Stop trying to _speak for me!"_

Steve's mouth snapped shut. He looked wounded, and Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Just," Tony dropped his hand, "stop trying to shelter me. Stop trying to fight _my_ battles for me." He ripped his pants up off the dresser with an angry flourish and slipped them on, not even bothering with his underwear.

Steve was shaking his head, his blue eyes wide. "I was just trying to protect you."

"I don't feel very protected right now, Steve. I feel like you think I can't handle my own shit." The grey t-shirt he swiped from Steve's drawer was too big for him, but combined with his fitted jeans hanging low on his hips, he looked both adorable and sexy as hell. Had Steve not royally pissed him off, he might have enjoyed teasing him, playing a game of coy innocence and driving him wild again.

Instead, Tony was furious. Seething beneath his skin. It _itched._

"I'm sorry." Steve tried, stepping closer to Tony and trying to draw him into his arms. Tony scoffed and pushed away.

"I need to check on my father."

"Tony…"

"Don't." Tony pushed passed him, and stalked out of the room.

"Tony, please!"

He didn't slam the door. Just let it click softly behind him. Somehow, that was more satisfying.

Howard was in the living room, nursing a glass of amber liquid. He was sitting forward on the couch, his elbows braced on his knees, the glass between both hands, twisting back and forth, and his fingers playing along the condensation from the ice. A fantastic bruise had blossomed on his left cheek, illuminated by the morning sun streaming in from behind him.

So, Steve had at least pulled the punch. Howard's cheekbone would be shattered if he hadn't.

He looked up as Tony entered, wincing at the movement. "Tony," he said in greeting.

Tony nodded, turned away, and headed into the kitchen to pluck an ice pack from the freezer. "I know it's a little late for ice, but," he sat right next to Howard, close enough so he could reach out and press the ice against his cheek, "it may still help the swelling. At least numb the pain a bit." With his other hand, he tilted Howard's chin so the ice could lay better. "I'm sorry Steve hit you."

"He packs a hell of a punch, I'll tell ya that."

"He's trying to protect me."

Howard leaned back, raising his hand and taking the ice from Tony. "Why?"

"Keep that on your face." Tony pulled his legs underneath himself and leaned his right elbow on the back of the couch, a mild headache forming behind his eyes. "I had a bad childhood."

Something flashed across Howard's face, a spark of recognition, but it was gone before Tony could fully decipher it. "Bad?"

Tony swallowed. "My father. He…he was awful to me. He drank a lot." Tony's eyes flickered down to the glass in Howard's hands then back up to his face. Howard flushed and set the cup down.

"What," Howard swallowed, "what did he do to you?"

"He used to scream at me a lot." Tony wasn't sure why he was saying it. He couldn't seem to stop once the words started to pour out, like finally saying it aloud - especially to Howard - was somehow allowing him to let it go, even if just a little bit. It felt good. It was pure catharsis. "A backhand here or there. When he really got drunk, that's when the party started."

Howard's voice was barely above a whisper. "He beat you?"

"A belt. His fists. Sometimes a cigar. Whatever caught his fancy."

"Jesus Christ." The ice fell to Howard's lap. "How bad?"

Tony shrugged, "Bad enough."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know," Tony sighed, looking away out over the landing pad and past the buildings. Down toward Fifth Avenue where a mansion used to sit, "I wish I did. You don't deserve to know any of this."

" _Why_ , Tony?" Howard's voice rose with intensity, " _Why don't I deserve to know?"_

Tony's eyes went round, he felt a sting and blinked, willing the tears away. He was too old to cry over his father, had been through too much to let old hurts bring him back down. "Howard, I…" His throat was closing, and he fought desperately to quell the panic rising up within him. "Because, you… Fuck, Howard. _You_ _are my father_."

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear what you all think! Thank you all so much for reading!


	4. Those Three Little Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little tenser, but also a little better. As usual, nothing makes much sense when it concerns the Avengers, particularly Steve and Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out to be quite the slow burn, so I hope everyone is okay with that! 
> 
> Much thanks to my betas Rachel and Lan.

Being in the future was really starting to lose its curb appeal. No shiny electronics or technology could erase the fact that he was not only regretting this but completely done with it.

Howard threw back his fourth cup of coffee that day _(Was it seriously only_ just _after eleven?)_ and skittered into the guest room as the elevator dinged. After the morning he had, he wanted nothing more to do with anyone in the tower, at least not until he processed the bomb that Tony - _his son!_ \- had dropped on him.

He had sat in stunned silence for all of ten seconds until Tony's face went white and he had fled, and Howard had just enough time to stand and twist his fingers into his hair in panic before Natasha had entered carrying a brown bag (that had admittedly smelled delicious) and inundated him with questions about how he came upon the spellbook, where it might be today, did his research say _anything_ about a return trip, did he know of any time constraints, and-

Fuck it all. He really screwed up in coming here.

It had seemed so simple. It really did! Cast the spell, if Steve were alive, go and see him! Then embark on a fabulous adventure in getting Howard back with the knowledge of how to find Steve so he could bring him back earlier. Bing bang boom! A lovely time had by all.

Except he had ended up fifty years into the future only to find out that he had a son who hated him - and rightly so! - because at some point in the next decade of his life he apparently made the decision to abuse his child.

Oh yes, and we can't forget the _drinking_. The way Tony's eyes had fallen to his glass of whiskey (and what right did he have boozing it up at nine in the morning _anyway_ ) as he spoke of the more severe, alcohol induced beatings and Jesus fucking Christmas. Howard knew he was a lot of things. Smart, annoying, driven, _charming_. Child abusing bastard wasn't exactly on that list.

The thoughts from the day before were tripping through his mind. Stumbling over new information and banging into walls. He had known this. Ignored it, but had known. Tony was his _son_. His son! They looked a fair bit alike, he'd give into that, but Tony's eyes were something else. Big and brown, soulful and deep. They looked like...well, they looked like Maria's. The thought of starting a family with the beautiful Italian he had just started dating should have sent him into fits of joy. Maria was _wonderful_ , and he was sure she'd be a fantastic mother. He _had_ thought the same of himself - as a father, not a mother, let's not be ridiculous - when he was a young man. That one day, he'd grow up and have a family and he'd be the kind of father _he_ had always wanted. Attentive, doting, _loving_. Stopping the cycle of horrible childhoods with the empire he was building himself. He'd have a legacy to pass on, unlike the drunk bum who had knocked his mother up and spent every penny they earned down at the local pub.

But then the war happened. And his priorities shifted, squeezing out any chance of children. He had no longer felt the urgency to have them, even years later.

Was that it? Did he shift so much that there wasn't _room_ for Tony? Was he unplanned? Unwanted? But no. Even now, with the information he had, something was swimming up inside Howard. A fresh feeling of, dare he call it, _love_ for someone other than himself?

This was _his son_. His own flesh and blood.

No. No. It was something else. Had Maria come to him moments before he cast that _ridiculous_ spell and told him she was pregnant, he would have dropped everything to care for her. The best doctors, the best midwife, whatever she wanted. He would have started to carve out a gigantic place for both of them in his life. Did the child want to go into scientific development like he did? Bam! Money aside for that. Was he more artistically inclined? Juilliard could use some renovations or a new building named after him. Law? Sure! A Stark as a lawyer would have been a formidable force in the courtroom. Hell, the unborn baby could have decided to be a garbage man, and Howard would have bought the entire company for him.

So what changed?

What made him think nothing of striking - no! - beating _his own child_?

And Tony! Well, from the few interactions he had with the man, he seemed, hell, he seemed incredible. Smart. Witty. Kind. He had created that exoskeleton armour, which to be frank was amazing. So, his child had gone into engineering. Something he, himself, loved! He had yelled at Howard, _sure_ , but it was well within his right to considering…

What the fuck had warped Howard so much that he turned into such a...such a…

Such a monster.

His head hurt. He was thinking in circles, not coming up with any sort of conclusion. Just rambling on and on as guilt gnawed at his insides. Drinking coffee like it was going out of style while his stomach churned with resentment at his own future actions and hunger. God, was he hungry. The greasy and delicious smelling breakfast sandwiches Natasha had brought up for him sat uneaten in the refrigerator, growing cold. He couldn't bring himself to eat. Couldn't bring himself to leave the guest room for longer than it took to refill his mug with coffee from the machine that never seemed to be empty.

He yearned for a drink. Scotch. Bourbon. Hell, even a beer. _Anything._

But it didn't seem right. It didn't seem _just_ to drink and flaunt his misgivings and mistakes to the child he had abused.

Howard didn't know a lot about this time, but he knew one thing. He knew it was high time Tony had a father. He wasn't seeking forgiveness; he didn't deserve that. But maybe, _maybe_ he could at least help out his son. Help him move past what happened to him. Give Tony _something_ , for once, that he didn't need to get himself.

\---

The room was cold without Tony. It was still. There was _no life_ here without the pulsing energy that was Anthony Stark. Steve sat at his window, sketchbook forgotten in his hands as he stared out over the expanse of the Manhattan skyline.

His temper was no secret to anyone that knew him. It had gotten him into trouble more times than he could even count, but never - _never!_ \- had it screwed up something _so badly_. But as much as he chastised himself, as upset as he was over hurting Tony's feelings, he couldn't help the _righteous indignation_ that boiled inside his gut.

He was right. He was right about it _all._ For all Tony claimed to not be abused, _he was_. There was no playing around with that. There could be no bending the definition of the actions that vandalized Tony's childhood. They couldn't just will away the repercussions of abuse and casual neglect. Tony bore those scars daily. In everything he did! In his false bravado, his charm, his desperation to be _useful._ It was all there in black and white.

Why was it _so hard_ for Tony to admit?

Steve groaned in frustration, balling up his fists to rub at his face. What did any of that matter if all it did was drive a wedge between them? All he needed to do was apologize and keep his mouth shut from here on out. Tony loved him. _All of him_. Including his temper. He _had_ to understand. Didn't he? Steve didn't punch Howard for himself. He did it for Tony. Hell, he did it for _Bruce_ too. And Howard deserved it.

But Tony…

Tony wouldn't even look at him. And that hurt the most. Regardless of what had happened in the past, Tony was his present. His future. He had to make this right.

"JARVIS," he started softly, looking up toward the ceiling, "can you tell me where Tony is?"

"Sir is in his workshop." The voice was clipped and short, professional in the way a boss fires his secretary.

Steve chuckled contritely. "So, you're mad at me as well." It wasn't a question.

"I am loyal to my creator."

The sketchbook landed with a plop on his bed, and the charcoal right after, his wrist flexing like it did so many times with his shield. The movements were practiced, honed, and accurate.

The charcoal snapped in half.

"Well, that's just great." He stood, lifting out of the chair with an ease he didn't feel. "JARVIS, I don't suppose you didn't already warn Tony I was coming, did you?"

"As I said, Captain Rogers, I am loyal to my creator."

"Right." He left anyway, pride be damned, and took the stairs. It gave him a moment to think and less of a chance of JARVIS messing with him.

There was no music playing in the workshop.

That was Steve's first hint to how wrong the situation was. The second was that Tony wasn't overtly working on anything. Steve watched from behind the glass wall for a few minutes, studying Tony's form as he sat, pulling out wires from one of his gauntlets and tossing them. To the unknowing eye, Tony was busy doing what he did the best, which was building. Steve knew better. This was Tony throwing himself into anything in order to distract himself. Fixing problems that he invented with an anxious mind, could bes, maybes, might happens… It often helped to solve issues before they arose, and if Tony was anything, he was definitely a problem solver and proactive in anticipating what could potentially go wrong. An engineer at heart.

But in times when he was stressed, it was more manic than productive. Most of the time, he emerged from those spells of deflection and invention with something awe inspiring and cutting edge. But sometimes, all he did was take apart his suit hunting for a problem that didn't exist.

Around him, technology moved. Holograms, machines, robots. But Tony's head was down, ignoring it all. His fingers deftly wrapped around a bundle of different colored wires and he tugged, jerking them from the wrist of the gauntlet and tossing them over his shoulder. Dum-E scurried behind him, picking up what was discarded and whirling away to the trash.

Even like this, so wrapped up in busying himself, Tony was still a sight to be seen. Beauty amid chaos. That's how Steve saw Tony. Not just in that moment, but always. He was surreal, ethereal in ways Steve could never even find the words for. His brilliant mind like the Jackson Pollocks he adored, colorful disorder with no obvious reason until you actually stepped back and could see the whole picture. How order could be made from mayhem.

He was tragically beautiful, and no, Steve would never say that out loud.

He let his hand rest on the glass before knocking lightly, and Tony jumped, hands grabbing at a socket wrench as he reeled around on the stool, ready to defend himself. His body relaxed upon seeing Steve, and he let the wrench fall back to the workbench. His mouth moved, speaking words Steve couldn't hear to JARVIS, and the doors slid open.

"Tony," his voice came out weak and he cleared his throat. "Tony, listen, I'm sorry, but-"

"Steve, listen, I need to finish this." Tony spoke hurriedly, already turned back toward the gauntlet, his fingers digging into the glove. "If something happens to my GPS, it could get jammed, and we’re down to my gyroscope! Then what do we do? Nat could get hurt, Clint or...or you, and we wouldn’t know which way to go to get to safety! I can't let that happen." He shoved the gauntlet aside and pulled the helmet forward. "We can only get within a quarter mile of a destination with the gyroscope, and I can’t even calculate how to get back to center with it if we’re off that far! We won’t be able to find anything smaller than an airport!” He lifted his head, just for a second, showing Steve wide, exhausted eyes before dropping them back to the helmet. "I'll install a failsafe, of course, but by allowing for a system shut down in the case of a monster that's..." He looked up again, and Steve saw a glint of fear in his dark eyes. "You know, electrical? Like a bad Thor? And the use of a gyroscope… I mean it's archaic, but we need to be prepared. If something happens to my suit, then at least we have options, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "What's this?" He lifted a bolt from behind the face mask, shrugged, and tossed it over his shoulder. "Useless, don't need it."

"Tony," Steve tried again, stepping closer, his hand lifting to touch Tony's shoulder but stopped halfway. Tony's entire body had tensed up. He wasn't ready to be touched, not until he was able to climb out of the hole he had descended into, the hole that Steve had dug for him.

Tony moved out of his reach, his shoulder dipping away from Steve's hand as he turned to his standing tool box and plucked a set of wire cutters from it. He pointed at Dum-E, "What's this mess?" He gestured to a few tools on the floor, "Right here? Clean that up."

"Hey, please look at me."

"No time for sex, Steve, I need to get this done."

"Tony, that’s not-" Steve felt his resolve slip away like water down a drain. He had come to apologize, but that wasn't what Tony needed at that moment. He needed someone to redirect him, to move his mind away from the anxiety and back onto solid ground. Once Tony was mentally stable - or at least not as shaky - then, and only then, could Steve breach the subject of his indiscretions that morning. But for the moment, Tony needed his boyfriend, not his captain, and not his protector.

He needed to pull Tony out of his own mind, something that Rhodey was infinitely better at. But Rhodey wasn't there. It was just Steve. And he'd have to be good enough.

"Tony, please, stop. Look at me. Did you have breakfast? Do you want coffee? Let's get some coffee." He turned, just slightly to the door, an open invitation to leave the lab. Step one.

Tony was off the stool and in his arms in an instant, something snapping inside him. He buried his face in Steve's chest, fists clenched into Steve's t-shirt. "I told him." His voice was hitched, and Steve felt his guilt drop down and his need to protect push forward again.

"Start from the beginning, angel."

Tony shook his head, "I fucked up, Steve. I keep fucking up."

"Baby, no." He took Tony's face into his hands, rubbing his thumbs across his cheeks. "I don't know what happened, but none of this is your fault."

"It is!" Tony pulled back, stepping away from Steve like he felt he didn't deserve comfort or human contact. It was just one more thing for Steve to hate Howard for. "This is all my fault! I started this mess the second I fled from the room when Howard appeared!"

"Tony, what are you talking about? Your father materialized out of thin air. Of course you were upset!" Steve started to reach to take him back into his arms, but Tony deftly dodged him.

"I could have acted like I didn't know him! I could have, I don't know!" He threw his arms up in frustration. "If I hadn't overreacted, we could have just told the others, _Hey! Don't treat him any different! He doesn't know who Tony is!_ But no! Of course not. I had to act like a child having a tantrum, and that just _snowballed_ into me telling Howard that _I'm his son!"_

Steve was finally able to corral him back into his arms, and Tony, well, Tony just melted. "Okay, so he knows now. We'll deal with it."

"But him knowing, Steve, I fucked up. He needs to go back at some point, and now he _knows_."

"Hey, hey! It's okay, listen to me." Pressing his lips to Tony's head quickly, Steve tightened his hold and spoke softly. "Bruce is going to figure out how to erase his memory of this, SHIELD didn't even question it, because he's the best at this stuff, Tony, you know that. And Nat and Clint are working on finding that spellbook."

"And?" Tony asked, pulling back a bit too look up at Steve. "If Bruce can't figure it out? If we can't find the book or there's nothing in there to get him back?"

"Then we keep trying. Tony, listen, I don't know much about time travel." Letting his fingers trail up Tony's face, he gently cupped his cheeks, tilting Tony's head so he could look into his eyes. "But you're still here, right? You haven't vanished into thin air?"

Tony looked confused. "No?"

"Then, Mr. McFly, I think it's safe to say that he gets back somehow, and we figure it out."

That drew a laugh, and Tony let his head fall against Steve's chest. "I regret the day I ever introduced you to those movies."

"Mmm," Steve let his voice lighten and teasingly rocked Tony back and forth, bringing another laugh from him. "You love that I've become so cultured in the twenty-first century cinematic experience."

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Pull me back from the abyss."

Steve smiled and pressed his lips to Tony's forehead. "So, done with the gyroscope?"

"Ah, no." Tony grinned sheepishly, "It's a good idea."

Unable to help the sigh of dismay, Steve let his head fall to the side. "Tony!"

"It's Murphy's Law, Steve, really!" Wheeling away from Steve's hold, he moved back to the bench, picking up the helmet and pointing to it, "What can go wrong, will go wrong. And someone needs to think of these things before they happen!"

"Tony, you're creating problems that-"

"-I know that!" He scoffed, tossing the helmet back onto the work bench, "But I also know - in case you missed the memo, I _am_ a genius - that there's always a method to my own madness. Maybe I was," he shook his head, eyebrows raised in admittance, "down here because I was avoiding Howard. And you. But something _is_ coming from that, and I really should finish what I started. I mean, come on, Steve. I'm sure your mother said the same thing! Finish what you start! So I have to-"

Steve shut him up with a kiss. "I'm sorry for punching your… I'm sorry for punching Howard."

Tony's voice was reserved when he answered, like he was testing the truth in Steve's words. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I accept your apology. I can't say I'm surprised someone finally hit him but..." Sighing, Tony threw his arms out helplessly. "But, Steve, he's my father."

"I know." It took a lot for Steve to relent, but he didn't want to spend another minute thinking Tony was mad at him. That's what the debriefing room on the Helicarrier was for. "I don't support this," he pressed on before Tony could protest. "I can't lie to you and say I do, Tony. I just can't. But I'll still be here. Whatever you decide. It's gonna take a lot more than a time traveling father to chase me away from you."

"Steve, it's not just punching him, it's...it's…"

"I know," he replied softly. "I'll work on that too."

"Thank you. Now," he grinned up at him, "did I hear mentions of coffee?"

Wrapping his arms back around Tony, he pulled him backward to the door. "You only like me for my beans."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"You young whippersnappers, with your Starbucks and your yeets!"

Tony's giggling echoed along the walls of the workshop like the sun echoed across the glass windows of the tower. Beautiful and missed after a rainy morning.

\---

Natasha was a people watcher. Unashamedly. She could spend hours sitting on a bench in Central Park or taking up the corner both at a cafe. Sitting against the pillars between the entrances to track 17 and tracks 18 and 19 at Penn Station was a favorite of hers. She could sit, almost invisible, eating a slice from Rose's Pasta and Pizzeria and sipping on a beer in a brown paper bag, and just watch. During the week, it was all commuters from Long Island, standing in front of the electronic board and waiting for their track to be announced before herding down the steps in a fight to grab a seat and bitching about changing in Jamaica. On the weekends, it was the drunk crowd. Girls and guys, dressed in their partying best, high heels clicking against the floors and screams and shouts of drunken fun. Boyfriends carrying their inebriated girlfriends, arranging for taxis and Ubers to pick them up at their stations, and making plans to meet for brunch the next day.

She adored it.

There was a certain innocence to the young fools, parading around in short skirts or tight button downs. The air mingled with perfume and cologne, the scent of alcohol and cigarettes, pizza, burgers, dirty water dogs, and pretzels. Laughter as one girl finally gave into her aching feet as she kicked off her heels and ran barefoot - a definite risk! - down the steps to track 15 when the Long Island Railroad throws a curveball and goes to an unexpected track.

She could sit there forever. At first, she had lamented the loss of her own youth. Envious that she would never get the chance to have her hot Massapequa boyfriend bridal carry her onto the drunk train or be able to lean on her best friends and navigate the steps together, speaking along with the automated voice as the train pulled away.

" _This is the train to Ronkonkoma. The next station is: Woodside_."

Some times - and she'd never admit it to anyone - she put on her favorite sparkly dress, did her hair and makeup, threw on a pair of stilettos, and rode the train with them. Sitting with the girls and talking, laughing, and bonding with a group of drunk people she'd never see again. There really was no one more supportive than inebriated women after a good night out.

"Oh my god! I love your dress!"

"Your eyes are so pretty!"

"You should totally model!"

She told herself it was research for undercover operations.

But it was honestly nice, just for a little while, to feel a part of something more mundane and just as wonderful. To feel camaraderie with girls her age. Women with no ulterior motives than just wanting to make someone else feel good and smile. Attention from gorgeous men with or without a trust fund, vying for her number, asking her to meet at the Leaky Sailboat in Seaford the next weekend or Mulcahy's in Wantagh because _There's a great band playing! It's a Billy Joel cover band. Do you like Billy Joel?_ And she would say she did and somehow the entire train car would burst into an off key rendition of Piano Man because these were Long Islanders and Billy Joel was their God and for a moment, just a moment, she was one of them.

Sometimes, she got off at Farmingdale and took an Uber with the girls to the all night diner for fries and mozzarella (mutz-zi-della, she would say, to fit in) and brown gravy. Other times she would hop into someone's Civic and race off to the beach to watch the sun rise with them, sipping on wine coolers and eating 7-Eleven packaged fruit and sandwiches, seated on a sandy blanket pulled from the trunk of the car, her heels left on the floor of the backseat.

On one rather unique occasion, they stripped off their dresses and jumped naked into the ocean. Swimming freely into the chilly water and diving into the waves. Giggling and running to grab their belongings when the Jones Beach grounds crew caught them, speeding out of the parking lot and racing away. She'd take an Uber home from one of the girl's houses, under Tony's account, always leaving a hefty tip. He never questioned the charges. And she would never see those girls again.

No one knew she did this.

It was her own secret escape. The ability for just a short time to be normal. She wondered at how many pictures of herself ended up on Facebook, or if anyone ever wondered what happened to the pretty redhead they had spent the morning with.

And sometimes, she wondered if she could just get on the train one day and not come back. Didn't she deserve a bit of normalcy after everything she had been through? Why couldn't she go college at Stonybrook and work weekends at a Hollister? Why couldn't she share a tiny apartment with three other girls, draping scarves over the windows in lieu of curtains, and eating ramen noodles and toaster strudels. Crowding around the bathroom mirror on Saturday nights, trading lipsticks and eyeshadows, and _Can I borrow your blue pumps for tonight?_

She wasn't the only one, though maybe she was the only Avenger who ever acted out her fantasies of being normal. She knew Steve never had that chance, even if he started out without the serum, he had still been sickly and weak. Thor was a godly prince, so yeah, nope. Tony had been born into expectation and certain privilege. His father had gone 'round the bend, and he was a genius. He had no chance. Bruce? He probably prayed for a normal life nightly, and most likely still did. And Clint, damn. Clint would have given it all up just for a shot to have his parents and brother back as they were before his entire life went to hell. They wouldn't judge her, and there was a connection in that. Something deeper than friendship.

But she was also the only female superhero, surrounded by good men, but men all the same. She longed for girlfriends and brunches and clothes swapping over boxed wine and Wal-Mart cheese. Pepper had become the closest she had to a female companion, but even then, it was completely different. Pepper ran a Fortune 500 company. Pepper was an adult businesswomen, well on her way up the societal ladder. They could _do lunch_ and schedule manicures. She'd even traverse Fifth Avenue with Natasha, shopping and chatting, but Happy was always waiting with the car, and Pepper was certainly not the type to dive naked into the Atlantic Ocean.

Normal was something none of them could ever have.

And maybe that was why she was fighting so hard to give it to Tony. Going against everything she had thought about Howard Stark and pushing for a reconciliation. It wasn't going to be the typical father and son relationship, but it could be the closest Tony would ever have to something akin to normal.

If she couldn't have it personally, she could at least attempt to give it to someone she cared about.

The evening peak commuter hours were winding down, not that there was as much on a Sunday, mostly retail workers, police officers, and medical personnel, and she had several hours before she'd be missed at the tower. Enough time to stretch her legs and wander Eighth Avenue for a bite to eat.

She was just pushing her legs out straight in front of her, gearing up to stand, when someone plopped down next to her and held out a coffee cup.

Clint. Of course he knew. How could she have ever thought otherwise?

"Vodka Tonic for _your_ thoughts?"

She huffed, amused, and took the cup, settling back against the pillar. "At least I didn't scream like a little girl."

"I _did not_ scream like a little girl!"

"Ahhh!" She jokingly mocked. " _Fuck you, Nat! And the horse you rode in on!_ " She let her voice go annoyingly high as she imitated him, and when he grumbled in protest to the pitch, she bumped his shoulder, smiling sweetly at him. "It was kinda cute."

"I'm not cute!"

"Yeah, you are." Crossing her legs in front of her, she watched as a woman in scrubs hurried past, checking her watch. "How did you find me?"

"You never turn your phone off when you come here."

"I wasn't aware I needed to. You tracking me?"

"I like to know you're safe." He cupped his hands around his own coffee, interlocking his fingers and bringing it up to his lips to take a sip. "It's chilly down here."

She shrugged. The heaters were on. She found it pleasant and not overbearing, but she could understand how someone not raised in the harsh winters of Russia would still find it cold. "So why did you come?"

"Looked like you needed to talk."

"We should be looking for that book."

It was his turn to shrug. "Maybe, but until we hear back from my contact, we have no leads. The notes for the memory serum arrived, and Bruce is hard at work with that. Fury called me, you know. Asking why we wanted it."

"What did you tell him?" She took a drink of her own coffee, appreciating how Clint always seemed to get the creamer to sugar ratio just right for her.

"That we got wind of it and Bruce would know better than the hacks at SHIELD."

Chuckling darkly, she finally turned her head to face him. "I'm sure that went over well."

"Oh, he wasn't happy, but he's not an idiot. He knows Bruce - and Tony for that matter - are smarter than all of them combined. I think he knows something is up, but as long as he gets the finished product as well, he's not fighting the issue. Yet."

"We'll have to tell him at some point. Preferably after Howard leaves."

"And after Tony and Howard have their _Leave it to Beaver_ moment?" He said, nudging her lightly, his face expectant.

"Am I wrong for pushing this?"

"I've never known you to second guess yourself like this." She didn't answer him, so he continued, "No, I think you're right. Tony needs this. And maybe we all need this as well. Some bull shit about catharsis or something like that."

She snorted, a sound completely unattractive on anyone else that was almost cute coming from her. "Steve punched Howard, did you hear?"

"I may have asked JARVIS to play it back for me a few times."

"May have?"

"His feet just go flying over his head as he sailed over the kitchen island. It was beautiful. Majestic as fuck." Clint laughed, miming the fall with his hands. "Then _SPLAT!_ On the floor. Bruce's face is priceless. I want to meme it."

"I think Tony yelled at Steve for it though. He looked pissed when I saw him this morning." Placing her cup on the ground next to her, she folded her legs underneath her body and leaned on Clint. "Steve is being a bit, well, _too Steve_ at the moment. He needs to back off, or he's going to lose Tony."

"And here I was thinking Tony would be the one to fuck up the relationship." She punched his arm, and he squeaked. "Ow! Must you always resort to violence?"

"Don't talk about my big brother like that."

"Your big- You're ridiculous, do you know that?" He rubbed his arm. "That's gonna bruise!"

"He's the big brother I never wanted, and tough. Stop being a jerk."

"You're being a jerk." He mumbled. "This is what I get for bringing you coffee."

She glared at him, narrowing her eyes and leaning in threateningly. She knew that he understood she would never intentionally hurt him, but reminding him that she could went a long way sometimes. "I never wanted this family, but I sure as hell will protect it."

His face softened, and he dropped his hand to his lap. "I know that, Tash, I'd do the same."

"I know." She laughed quietly. "I know you don't mean it. Teasing is just how you show you care."

He looked incredulous. "Then why did you punch me if you knew I was joking?"

"Favorite pastime of mine."

"Sadist."

"Come on." She stood, and held her hand out to him. "Let's get something to eat, I'm starving."

Taking her hand and letting her pull him up, he bent down to retrieve her coffee and handed it back to her. "Me too. Anything you want in particular?"

"Hot dog cart. New York style. Extra sauerkraut."

"That's gross."

"You're gross."

"You say that like it's a bad thing!" He grinned, stepping around the pillar and walking towards the exit. She fell in pace next to him. "I like the one on 34th better."

"Me too," she agreed, taking the steps two at a time. They walked through the main concourse of Penn and took the escalators up to street level, emerging onto the 34th Avenue side and heading left to her favorite hot dog vendor. "Should we get enough for everyone?"

"You gonna carry it?" He mockingly cowered when she raised her fist again, holding up his hands in defeat. "Okay! Okay! Uncle! Uncle! I'll carry it!"

Another sickeningly sweet smile had Clint pulling out his own wallet to pay.

"Twenty dogs, twelve New York style, four with brown mustard only, two with brown mustard and red onions, and two with ketchup." She ordered in a perfect local vernacular that had Clint shaking his head.

The man at the cart looked up, surprised, but smiled when he saw Natasha. "Anything for my beautiful friend here. Feeding the masses again, Miss Natasha?"

"You know it, Rahib. Can you put extra kraut on two of those for me?"

"Wait, you know him?" Clint looked wounded, pointing to the vendor. "And you never hooked a brother up?"

"Ignore him, Rahib. He gets bitchy when he's hungry."

Rahib laughed, his face friendly as he loaded the brown cardboard food boxes with the hot dogs. "That's fifty, but for you, my beautiful friend, I charge forty."

Clint mumbled under his breath but forked over two twenty dollar bills and an extra ten in tip when Natasha elbowed him.

"Thank you!" Rahib smiled, tucking the money away. "You are Feathers, aren't you?"

Clint turned a fierce face to Natasha, "Really?"

"What?" She smirked, handing him three of the boxes and taking two herself. "Tony knows him too."

They took a cab back to the tower, the weather a bit too chilly to keep the food warm, and ascended in the elevator. Natasha smacked Clint's hand away each time he tried to pick an onion slice up to eat it. "Stop it, we're almost there!"

"But it smells so good!"

"And we're almost there!"

"Killjoy," he complained as the doors opened. "Anyone here? We brought nosh!" The kitchen was empty, and a peek into the living room showed the same.

"Sir and Captain Rogers are in Sir's suite," JARVIS began. "Doctor Banner is in his lab, and Mr. Stark is in the guest quarters."

"Thanks, JARVIS." Setting the boxes on the counter, Natasha opened the cabinet above her head to pull out plates. "Can you tell them all we bring nourishment in the form of processed pork?"

"Of course, Agent Romanoff."

Clint was tugging out giant jugs of Arizona Iced Tea from the fridge. "Should we make something else to go with the hot dogs?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Fries?"

Natasha scoffed, "I'm not lugging out the deep fryer. We can make a salad."

Clint was already back into the refrigerator, gathering lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, really any vegetable he could find that he wouldn't mind eating raw.

Howard's voice piped up by the door of the guest room. "If you don't mind, I'll just take mine in here."

"Nonsense," she dismissed, turning to face him. "If this is about Steve punching you, I think he's gotten it out of his system. Besides, I'm pretty sure Tony chewed him out for it."

"Because," Clint kicked her, "Tony owns the building and he'd be pissed to hear a guest-"

"-I know I'm his father."

"What? How?" Natasha paused while sliding the cutting board from its place behind the bread box. "You figured it out."

"Yes and no." He stepped into the room, hands deep within the pockets of the - were those Tony's? - jeans he was wearing. "I started putting the pieces together yesterday. Tony told me this morning."

"Howard-"

"Don't. I don't deserve your sympathy." He shook his head, like he was trying to jiggle the words loose. "I have no idea how I go from me now to...well, to someone who beats his own child. It's no wonder Steve hates me. Tony's his closest friend, right? They're so close. Of course he'd be mad."

Natasha studiously ignored the loaded look Clint was giving her. "They're very close. And I'm not going to lie, Tony has suffered from it. But, Howard, you know this is your chance, right?"

"To make it right?" He moved further into the room, his feet sliding cautiously against the linoleum. "How can I make something right that I haven't done yet? Unless you mean when I go back?"

She shook her head. "No, you have to do exactly as you did. Or everything changes. _Tony_ changes."

"How can you expect me to hurt him knowing I… knowing what I know now. I can do better!"

"Tony's entire life plays out how it has _because_ of his childhood. That sets _everything_ into motion. If you change the way he's raised, then there's a possibility of _no Iron Man._ " She moved to the doorway to the living room and pointed to the clipping framed on the bookshelf. "If there's no Iron Man, then we don't win _that._ "

"I can't-" Howard faltered. "I get that. But you don't know for sure-"

"I do. The first suit is made because he put his trust into someone he shouldn't have. And that's because he didn't have _you._ "

His mouth hung open, panic spreading across his face as he answered. "How can you expect me to hurt him now? I can't… if I know… I won't. I won't do it, Natasha. I won't hurt him again."

"You don't have a choice, Howard! Just think about how you're _going to get a second chance!_ "

"But if I know?! Would you?" He threw his arms out, challenging her.

Clint's steady voice sounded from his position by the fridge. "Bruce is working on a way to make sure you forget all of this when you go back."

"What? No!"

"It's not up to you, Howard." Carefully, Clint lined the vegetables up on the island. He walked to the counter and took the cutting board from Natasha's hands. "If we lose that battle, New York is gone. This tower is gone. And that means Tony will probably be gone." Picking a knife from the block by the stove, he turned back to the island and sliced a tomato in half. The red tinted juice flowed freely across the wooden board. "Gone, Howard. Do you understand that? Dead. If you don't listen to us and you go back knowing, then you have sentenced the very son you're trying to protect to death."

Howard visibly swallowed. "How?"

"We were attacked." Natasha spoke softly. "By aliens. A group of officials deemed it necessary to launch a nuclear bomb at Manhattan when it looked like they would win. The bomb would have taken out the whole city."

The air around them stilled. "What happened?"

"Your son, in the Iron Man armor, flew it up into space and aimed it at their ship instead. He's the reason we won. He's the reason this city is still standing."

"Jesus."

"Without that armor, without his quick and sacrificial thinking, that bomb would have gone off, and everyone would be dead. Including Steve. And then you never would have come to the future at all." She handed him a knife and another cutting board. "Cut those cucumbers. I'll wash the lettuce."

He did as he was told.

\---

Tony shifted on the couch, tucking himself under Steve's arm further and blatantly using Steve's chest as his own personal pillow. On the television, Tom Hanks’s son fretted about getting into Stanford, while Jack Black vomited. It was one of Tony's favorites, _Orange County_ , a film from 2002 that he had first seen only a couple of years prior. He had fallen in love with the dysfunctional family and the protagonist's plight of trying to better himself.

This was him introducing the movie to Steve, who was intently watching and laughing along. But Tony couldn't concentrate. His thoughts kept slipping back to his father. Other than letting him into the suite to shower and handing him a change of clothes, he hadn't spoken to the man. Hadn't even attempted to breach the conversation they had that morning, though it hung between them like heavy rope, frayed and rough.

His fight with Steve didn't help. Not that Tony was good at talking things out, but the two of them had barely made up. Instead, they had knowingly pushed it aside for the bigger concern: Tony telling Howard.

He didn't want to fight with Steve. Hated it with a passion. The only time it was acceptable was when they had to assemble. They could bicker and argue about what to do and fight even more at the debriefing. And then they could leave it there. It helped to strengthen their relationship outside of the Avengers; the ability let out tension while in battle meant that the little tiffs they got into outside of that were usually talked out functionally. Calmly.

Except for that morning, where Tony did the talking (read: yelling), and Steve stuck his proverbial tail in between his legs. It was a pity that the monsters were on a break. They really _could_ use a good battle. Tony had a desperate need to shoot something.

"Sir," JARVIS' voice spoke up, "Agent Romanoff would like me to inform you that she and Agent Barton have acquired nourishment in the form of processed pork. I believe that means hot dogs."

Tony gave a short laugh. "Thanks, J." Tilting his head up so he could see Steve, Tony asked, "Hungry?"

Steve cocked an eyebrow at him. "Is that even a question?"

"Right. How silly of me." He stood and stretched, shivering a little at the loss of Steve's warmth. "I'm gonna grab a sweater before we go."

He turned to enter the bedroom, but something hit him in the back of his head and tumbled to the floor. "This works too." Tony chuckled, picking up the still warm hoodie Steve had been wearing and pulling it over his head. "I always prefer when they smell like you anyway."

With a soft smile, Steve stood and pulled Tony into his arms, kissing him sweetly. "You okay with him being there, angel?"

"Yeah. Are you?"

Steve lifted his right shoulder, "I don't know. He may not be."

"What Rhodey said, are you really against that?"

"I don't know, Tony. You don't have to decide tonight." Letting his head rest on the top of Tony's, he swayed them back and forth gently. It was one of those things Steve did. Like a habit. It was a small, physical solace, something his mother had done for him. Tony had learned of it early on in their relationship, and though he always had a low tolerance for all that touchy feely garbage, Steve used that one little motion to break through to Tony.

These days, he still refused outright physical affection from others, but he craved it from Steve. Especially that slow, loving rocking. Tucked tightly into Steve's arms, the only place he ever felt he belonged.

"You still think it's a bad idea." Tony didn't move from his Steve burrito, upset that they weren't on the same page but reluctant to lose contact regardless.

"I do. Tony," Steve pulled back to look directly into Tony's face, "I just want you to be happy. Is that so much?"

"And what if this is it? What if this is what's holding me back? And forgiving him…"

"I can't answer that, doll." He said carefully. "I don't know the answer. I know," he sighed, leaning down to press his forehead against Tony's. "I know that I don't want you to be disappointed when he turns out to be exactly who you think he is. I know I don't want you to get hurt."

"You can't always protect me." He started to pull away, to escape from Steve's arms - his safety. But Steve just tugged him back easily, tucking him close to his chest.

"I can try."

Tony struggled, just a little, before giving in to the embrace. "I'm a grown ass man, Rogers."

"I know. But I'd be lost without you, angel."

"You'd be fine. You're the 'Man with the Plan.'" He spoke into Steve's chest, voice muffled, hands splayed across the firm muscles. His insecurity was showing again. Damn it.

"My plan is to spend my life with you, how's that?" System overload. Too schmoopy! Tony moved to pull away, anything to keep from those pesky feelings he'd been having too many of lately. But once again, Steve didn't let him. "Nope. I'm not done hugging you yet."

Tony squirmed. "Steve, let go! There's hot dogs! Didn't you hear?"

As was usual with Steve, he saw through him, but Tony wasn't surprised nor was he upset over it. He wanted the comfort, even if he rarely sought it out himself. Steve knew. He always did when Tony wanted it but couldn't find the words to ask, and he was far too good at persisting until Tony finally allowed it.

Not that Tony was complaining.

"Hot dogs can wait. I'm hungry for Tony right now."

His snicker was entirely involuntary - at least that's what Tony told himself. "Hungry how?"

"You got a dirty mind, Anthony." But he tilted his head to kiss down Tony's neck anyway, and Tony sighed happily. This was his favorite form of comfort; it was an intimacy he understood. "Or," Steve continued, pulling back to graze over Tony's lips, "we can eat some Dirty Water Dogs and stop hiding."

He couldn't help it. Tony groaned. His pants had just started feeling tight, and anyone who knew him was well aware that when it came to sex, Tony Stark had a one track mind.

And then of course his traitorous stomach made its choice loudly. Very loudly. Steve's laughing didn't help, as Tony let his head drop down in defeat. "You at least owe me a blow job later."

"Promise."

"And it better be the best blow job you've ever given!"

Steve guffawed, his face splitting into an enormous grin. "As if you ever get anything less than from me!"

Tony's stomach growled again. "I feel so betrayed by my own body."

"Come on," Steve slung an arm around Tony's waist and let him to the door, "let's shut your belly up."

Tony's face crumpled into one of disgust. "Don't ever call it a belly again!"

"I already told you, I love your belly!"

"Steven!"

With a giggly laugh (and Tony would rib him for that later), Steve stepped behind Tony as they walked through the door, sliding his hands around to cup Tony's, ah, belly under his shirt.

Tony twitched, jolting to the side. "Stop that! I'm ticklish!"

Steve ignored the exclamation, "You're so fit but it's still so soft."

He wiggled, trying to escape as Steve dug his fingers into his ribs, "Ack! No! Stop!" Laughing hard, he finally wormed his way out of Steve's grip, and took off down the hallway, sliding into the kitchen and colliding with Clint. "Sorry!" Clint looked equal parts annoyed and amused as he steadied Tony enough that the genius was able to vault himself over a stool and vanish into the living room and behind the sofa.

"Stark! What the fuck was that?" Clint asked, laughing as he stuck his head into the living room.

Tony's head popped over from the back of the couch. "Steve's mean."

"I am not!"

"Are to!"

"Am not!"

"Are to!"

"Children!" Natasha yelled out, arms up like she was a lion tamer and not the only mature one of the Avengers. "I will turn this tower around, or so help me!" Or maybe they were a bad influence on her.

Steve had a predatory gleam in his eyes as he stalked closer to the couch. "Clinton, did you know Tony is ticklish?"

"Don't call me tha- He is?!"

"Fuck." Tony had no choice. He'd have to make a run for it. It would have been a triumph of agility, lunging over the couch again like he did, except Steve made a grab for him and he, well. Tony zigged when he should have zagged, as the saying went. And he tumbled over, coming to rest at Howard's feet.

Shit. He had forgotten about him.

Everything in Tony froze up at that moment. He could feel his brain screaming at him. Be logical! Don't freak out!

Tony didn't freeze. Ever. He always acted, was always able to figure out how to make his muscles move even if it was to buy him time before he could talk his way out of whatever hot water he had gotten himself into. He prided himself on his ability to think quickly. It was partially because he _was_ a genius, and partially because Tony had - in all his years - _a lo_ t of practice in getting out of tight spots.

"Let's say we eat!" Clint clapped his hands once, always good at sensing an awkward moment that he wasn't directly involved in (but never ones he caused, poor schmuck), and Tony sent him a truly appreciative look.

"That's a great idea, I'm starved!" It was forced, but Tony was grateful for Steve's attempt as well.

He clamored to his knees, bringing one up to ready himself to stand when a hand shot it to help him. It was Howard, because of course it was, and Tony couldn't find a reason to ignore it that wouldn't make the situation worse.

He took Howard's hand and let him pull him to his feet. "Uh, thanks."

Howard nodded. "No problem."

There was a silence. It spread from person to person and Tony shifted uncomfortably on his heels. Every pair of eyes was trained on him. "Okay! So, processed pork. Bring it on."

Clint cleared his throat, his eyes shifting. "Right, ah, the food is…in the kitchen. We made salad. As well. Natasha and me. And Howard."

Tony winced slightly. Man, they all really were bad at normal human interaction, weren't they?

Natasha's cheeks filled with air, and she blew it out, the sound cutting through the tension. All eyes turned to her. "I say we watch a movie." She shrugged, helpless at the confused gazes. "Look, this is so obviously awkward, and conversation isn't going to help. I'm just saying, something else to concentrate on while we eat would probably be better."

There was a pause as they contemplated that, and Tony had to admit that it was probably the best course of action. "What movie?" He started toward the kitchen, gesturing for everyone to follow. "Comedy? Drama?"

"Comedy is probably our best bet," Natasha said as she filed her plate with the salad. "But, Howard, why don't you decide?"

He looked a bit like a deer in headlights. Howard forced a smile, "Can I think on that?"

Nodding, Natasha handed him a plate to serve himself. "Whatever you want. Doesn't have to be comedy. I guarantee we have it." Howard gave her a tentative smile and picked up a hot dog.

"Oh," Steve looked a little dismayed, his brow furrowing as he interrupted. "Tony, we didn't finish our movie."

Tony handed Steve a plate with four of the hot dogs on it. "That's okay. JARVIS will have saved our spot. We can finish it later."

Steve nodded his thanks, picking up another plate for his salad. "Okay, that's good. I was enjoying it. I can see why it's a favorite of yours."

"What movie?" Clint asked, picking up the two hot dogs with no sauerkraut on them. A small piece had edged onto one of the buns, and he flicked it off.

"Orange County." Tony turned to Howard, who was looking lost at the conversation. "Whatever you're thinking, I have everything. Movie wise, I mean."

Steve put down his plate a little too hard and Tony jumped. "All right there, Soldier?"

"Peachy."

Tony was just opening his mouth to answer when Howard asked, "Is Jarvis still alive?"

He blanched at that. They were so caught up in their own discussions they hadn't realized just what they were revealing. "Ah, no."

"A voice, earlier, is what told me that there was food. And I've heard you all talking to something. And calling it Jarvis."

Tony traded glances with Steve, biting his lip before answering. "Jarvis is dead. Unfortunately. What we are talking to is an A.I. - Artificial Intelligence."

"I know what that is." Howard said, but he was leaning forward, curious and fascinated.

"I modeled it after the Jarvis you knew. The Jarvis _I knew_. He's kind of like a robotic butler, but he does so much more." Talking about his creations always swelled up pride in him. "He runs the tower. Hell, he runs my life. JARVIS, say hi."

"Hello, Mr. Stark. My apologies for not speaking with you earlier." Howard's eyes went wide as JARVIS kept talking. "It was never explicitly said that I should not converse with you, but the general consensus seemed to be that I should, as the saying goes, keep my trap shut."

Clint stifled a laugh behind his hand.

"He sounds just like him!" Howard exclaimed, his awe evident. "I mean you'd know better, you've known him longer, I'm guessing. Probably spent more time with him." He shrugged, a bit ashamed. "You obviously loved Jarvis quite a bit. And it shows. This," he pointed to the ceiling, "is absolutely astounding."

"Incredible, isn't he?" Steve added, if a bit smugly. Tony could tell he was making an extreme effort to not lose his temper once again, though it wasn't hard with the reminder on Howard's cheek. He just wished Steve would back down. "Tony created him. _Fully_. JARVIS speaks like a real person but he knows everything. _No one else_ in the world has come close to this technology."

"And he's _so_ sassy. I love it." Clint grinned, reaching across the counter for a napkin. "Just try insulting him, go on! Try it!" He subtly bumped Tony's shoulder, a silent promise to diffuse the tension as necessary.

"Agent Barton, what you call insults is toddler play concerning your intelligence. Please stop talking," JARVIS snipped.

Clint's smile melted away and his mouth dropped. "Hey!"

Tony had to hide his face in his hands; he was laughing hard enough to offend Clint, and since the archer had just saved dinner with his fantastic ability to divert, he knew he really shouldn't egg JARVIS on. Then again, Tony never did well with keeping his mouth shut. "J, have I told you lately that I love you?"

Howard seemed torn between laughing and amazement. "You programmed an A.I. to speak with no difficulties and the ability to be a smart ass?"

"They did say to create what you know."

Holding up his hand to stop further conversation, Clint interrupted. "I'm making a plate for Bruce to bring to him. And going to lick my wounds. Be right back. Don't miss me too much."

Tony was practically cackling. "JARVIS, insult Clint again."

The English voice sounded bored. "Sir, surely you know that I prefer a challenge."

Red, Clint made a hasty retreat, trails of laughter following him to the elevator.

\---

The movie luckily went off without an issue, with Howard choosing a 1956 film he liked, _The Man Who Knew Too Much_ , a suspense thriller that everyone enjoyed. Tony had taken up his usual corner on the couch, and though normally Steve would have either bodily moved Tony so he could sit behind him and pull Tony to lay on top or sit next to him to swing an arm around his shoulders, he instead took the other corner. Tony gave him a wounded look but nodded in acceptance. They could play off the close friends just fine, but outright cuddling would be too obvious.

Howard didn't seem to notice as he took the armchair, happily munching on his food and pointing out his favorite bits of the movie. As the film ended and they gathered up their plates, he said, "Since you're all planning to erase my memory anyway, mind if I poke around?"

Steve wasn't exactly sure that was a good idea, but Tony picked up the tablet and beckoned Howard over to him. "Crash course on this."

Howard stood - and Steve pretended not to notice the wide girth he made to avoid moving too close to him - and sat next to Tony. "This is the camera!"

"More than a camera." Tony quietly laughed, turning the device on. "This is a Starkpad, a handheld computer."

"Starkpad, huh? You created this as well?"

"Yup, most popular tablet on the market. Then again, all my electronics are." He preened, sitting up a little taller. "This," he pointed to one the buttons on top, "turns the screen on and off. These are for the volume. The app - That's application, each one does something different - is for the internet, which has everything you could ever ask for. Just type in what you want here. That's called a search bar. These buttons on the bottom control what you want to do, so back, menu, and home screen," he demonstrated. "There're games here, and you know the camera. And this is the reading app, Book Worm; it works with Google books. So anything you want to read."

"This is impressive."

"Thanks. Any questions, just ask JARVIS, he'll walk you through."

"What are you going to do?"

"Probably finish that movie with Steve," he said, catching Steve's eyes and smiling, "then go to bed. I have actual work to do in the morning. This thing," he wiggled the tablet, "is supposed to have a new model coming out in a few months, and I need to finish the upgrades to the OS, er, operating system."

"This is incredible, Tony. What you've created, I could never. Not in a million years."

Steve saw the joy that comment cultivated within Tony, and it hurt to see. Just one little bit of praise and Tony was leaning in closer to his father and chatting about his other accomplishments, like a few minutes of playing proud father would fix everything. He swallowed back his anger. It didn't matter that this Howard wasn't exactly a bad guy. He would turn into one. And he would hurt Tony. This was too little, too late as far as Steve was concerned.

"I mean, I _am_ a genius."

Howard started to laugh, but sobered quickly. "Like an actual genius?!"

If it was at all possible, Tony sat up straighter. "IQ of 270. I'm one of the most intelligent people in the entire world."

"Holy shit."

"My intelligence is next to almost none. Bruce can match me. And I think _maybe_ one other person. Every product created by Stark Industries is wholly created by me. R&D comes up with some apps and some upgrades, but you're looking at the brains behind it all." He handed the tablet to Howard. "Don't believe me? Google it." He was like a peacock strutting, but all Steve saw was, 'Daddy, look at me! Look at me!' It made him ache inside to see Tony almost begging for validation.

Howard frowned. "What's a Google?"

"Search engine, it's that page - webpage? On the internet - that I showed you." Standing, Tony smiled brightly. "It's all there."

"My son is a genius!" Howard was all grins, beaming across the room. " _My_ son is a certified genius!"

Steve was biting his tongue, seething with anger. _A genius you beat, you bastard_. "Tony," he said a little too shortly and had to adjust his tone. "Come on. I want to finish that movie." Howard had enough time with Tony. More than he deserved. His platitudes were just that. Platitudes. Nothing he could say could ever erase what he had done, of that, Steve was convinced.

"Uh, yeah, sure, Stevie. Just a sec." Tony made no move to exit the room. "Come to my suite when you're done. I'll get you something clean to wear to bed."

"Oh! Right, thanks. Won't be long, it's been a long day, huh?"

Tony nodded. "Severely. I'll see you in a bit."

It was almost torture, but Steve waited until they were in the hallway to wrap an arm around Tony's waist possessivly. If Tony noticed the edge of his tension, he didn't say anything. Nor did he comment when Steve lay down on the couch in Tony's living room and pulled him so he was laying on top, his legs on either side of Steve's and his head tucked under his chin.

"JARVIS, please resume the movie and dim the lights."

Tony squirmed a little, adjusting. "I really am beat. Movie and then bed? Or movie, then the sex you promised, and _then_ bed?"

"I seem to remember only promising a blow job."

"Semantics," Tony purred, kissing Steve. "Or sex then movie?"

Steve felt his anger start to ebb away. How could he not when the sexiest man in the world was propositioning him? The sexist man in the world whom he loved with every ounce of his heart. "Shut up and just kiss me."

"I can do that." Tony flirted, lifting his body up so he could kiss him deeply. Steve felt his breath catch. God, Tony was good at that. He moved, sliding over to maneuver Tony beneath him and settling between his legs. Tony mewed softly, lifting his hips and seeking friction as Steve sucked down his neck.

"Steve," he breathed out, moaning as Steve took his lips again. His hips rolled, knees spreading further apart to bring him closer.

Grinding down against him, Steve pulled Tony's bottom lip into his mouth, sucking gently. They made no move to strip, though their hands wandered, up each other's shirts and down the curves of their bodies, so lost in each other that they forgot about the movie and everything else.

Steve loved that. He loved that he could just kiss Tony senseless, no sex needed, and lose time. To the point where Tony was panting and moaning, a puddle of aroused mush underneath Steve. It was invigorating that _he_ could do _that_ to _Tony Stark_.

The problem with a teenage inspired make out session on the couch wasn't the act itself, and it wasn't even anything to shake a stick at under normal circumstances. But Tony had told Howard to come to the suite when he was ready for bed. And Steve hadn't realized that more than an hour had passed and he was still necking with his boyfriend until they heard the three sharp raps at the door. Steve fell to the floor with an embarrassing thud.

"Shoot, Tony, that's Howard!"

Lips swollen and red from the kissing (and dear God, was that a good look on him), Tony stumbled to the door, taking care to adjust his pants to hide his erection. "J, lights on!" He hissed, trying to flatten his hair before swinging the door open. "Howard! Uhm, no, right, ready for bed?"

"Yeah," he said, stepping through the threshold. "Can I hold onto this? I found this list of acclaimed novels, and I started one, and it's really very good." He barely noticed Steve sitting uncomfortably on the couch as Tony led him to the bedroom. "The list is by some woman named Oprah Winfrey?"

Steve let his head drop into his hands. There was nothing normal about any of this. Good grief.

Tony and Howard emerged a few minutes later, Howard holding onto a pair of pajama bottoms and a Slayer t-shirt. "Just leave them by the door," Tony was saying of Howard's borrowed clothes. "I'll get everything washed."

"Will do. Thank you, again." His eyes finally landed on Steve. "You're still here? I figured you'd be in bed by now. It's after eleven."

Steve bit back a nasty retort. It was only funny when the others teased him about his bedtime. But, that did raise a problem. Howard was bound to start getting suspicious if Steve rarely ever went to his own room. "Just leaving," he stood.

"Okay, well. Good night." It was stiff, and Tony glanced back and forth between them, watching as Howard let himself out.

"Could you make your anger a little more obvious? I don't think Howard got the picture."

Steve winced. "Sorry, I'll try harder." He paused, thinking. "Maybe we should stay in my room until he goes back? It might be less, I don't know, in his face that we're together?"

"Maybe, but wouldn't he question that I'm never in here then?"

Steve sighed, knowing he was right. "We can alternate. Because there's no way in hell I'm sleeping without you."

"Good!" Tony was already grabbing a fresh pair of pajamas for himself, "because you started this," he gestured to his crotch with a coy grin, "so you need to finish it."

"Cross my heart, Stark. I'll finish it." Steve moved to the door. "Get ready for bed and I'll text you if the coast is clear. We've been lucky so far. We should be more diligent."

"I'll show you diligent."

Steve just rolled his eyes. "Promises, promises."

Howard was just coming out of the bathroom as Steve walked down the hallway, and Steve paused, unsure of what to do. He was given a hesitant smile as Howard paused in the doorway. "Go ahead," he gestured with a sweep of his arm indicating that Steve could pass.

"Uh, thanks." Clearing his throat, Steve concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, looking forward to his bed and Tony, but as he passed Howard's still form, he stopped, turning to the other man, his face pleading. "Don't hurt him."

"I know the whole erase the memory thing, but, Steve, I promise, I'm going to do everything in my power to change it." He had taken a step back, putting distance between himself and the one person that three days ago he swore he could trust with his life.

"I don't mean that." Steve felt a small smidgen of guilt prick at his chest as Howard retreated back into the bathroom. He pushed it back down. "I mean right now. Here. Don't hurt him. He plays aloof well, but he's always seeking validation. You hurt him, and I swear, Howard, me punching you is the least of your worries."

Howard's mouth opened, but he snapped it shut, fear in his eyes. Good.

"I don't care if you have to pretend, you will do what you have to in order to keep Tony happy. Do we have an understanding?"

"I'm not a monster, Steve. Not yet." Howard found his voice, but it was still a bit weak. The sentiment hit where it was supposed to, and Steve felt a pang of… something. A long ago memory of friendship, maybe.

"He's been through enough. I just don't want him to hurt anymore."

"Neither do I."

Steve wasn't sure if he believed him, wasn't sure how far down that monster was yet inside Howard. If it wasn't yet close to the surface, boiling, and waiting. "I hope so, Howard. I really do. But not for you, _for him_."

With nothing more to say, Steve left him, entering his room silently and letting the door click behind him. He let his enhanced hearing follow Howard down the hallway and waited until his own door shut before texting Tony and dropping his head back against the door. The important thing now wasn't being angry with Howard. It was reconnecting with Tony, something they both needed.

He swallowed. He needed Tony. Needed to feel him, needed to wrap himself up with him. Anything to crush down the complicated emotions that burned just under his skin. His anger towards Howard, his protective - and frankly possessive - love for Tony. He knew he needed to let Tony run his own life, but the fear of Tony being hurt, of losing him either physically or emotionally if all the work they did to help his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was ruined because of Howard…

It scared the hell out of him.

He stepped away from the door, shedding his button-down shirt as he did so. Tony was in the hallway and off came his pants. At the door, there went his undershirt. His hearing picked up the turn of the knob, and Steve shucked his boxers. As soon as Tony was in the room, he had him against the wall, lifting him and attacking his lips. Tony moaned, wrapping his legs around Steve's bare body.

"We were apart for five minutes." He chuckled into the kiss.

Backing up, Steve turned and laid Tony out on his back, crawling up onto the bed with him. "I just need you right now, Tony. Please."

Tony gasped, tilting his neck as Steve kissed down it, focusing on the point right above his clavicle. "Whatever you need, fuck, ah, Steve. Anything!"

Steve leaned up enough to pull Tony's shirt off, immediately dropping down to take one of his nipples into his mouth, closing around it and sucking the tiny nub. Tony's hands flexed, digging into the blanket.

"I love you so much, you know that, right?" His eyes flickered up, looking at Tony.

"I know, baby. I love you too, now would you keep going with what you are doing? Getting a little antsy here."

Steve chuckled, "Of course, angel." He lapped over Tony's other nipple, grazing his teeth over it, his hands working deftly at the drawstring to Tony's pants. "I need to be in you, _God_ , I need to be in you so badly right now."

"Fuck, yes, hurry up!"

That drew a laugh from Steve, and he pulled off Tony's boxers and pajamas in one motion, dropping his head down to take him into his mouth. Tony keened, hands going to Steve's hair, head pressed back against the bed. Steve brought him to the brink before backing off, watching as Tony's head thrashed back and forth, and dipping down to do it again. Teasing and teasing until Tony's body shook under his palms, and he was almost sobbing with need.

"Baby, please," Tony choked out, "please, I need to come!"

He nuzzled Tony's taut skin as he made his way back up to kiss him, letting Tony taste himself on Steve's tongue. "Of course, angel." He murmured, hooking his arms under Tony's and hefting him to the head of the bed. "On your stomach." Tony moaned, and rolled over, pressing his cleft against Steve's length as he did so. Steve hissed. "I should make you pay for that."

"Shut up and fuck me." It was a growl. And it was almost Steve's undoing.

"Dirty mouth." He trailed open mouth kisses down Tony's back, spreading him open before giving just one long lick, causing Tony to cry out in want. "Patience, angel." He kept the lube in a box on the nightstand, and it was quick retrieval, though not quick enough as he ran his thumb up and down Tony's hole and listened to the incredible begging from below him.

Tony gasped as the cool lubricant hit him, pressing his forehead into his folded arms in front of him. He was too pretty like this. Too beautiful for words. All wanton and needy, breathless and desperate, and when Steve straddled his thighs and pushed into him, it was like all the air had been forced from his lungs. He was going to suffocate on Tony, and no other death could ever suffice.

"Tony, oh my angel, you feel so perfect." This was going to be quick for him, a fast and hearty fuck, just the reconnection they needed. It was why he had brought Tony so close to the edge. He knew he wasn't going to last long. His own need was far too deep at that moment. Too great to control himself for long.

Draping his body over Tony's, Steve kissed every available piece of skin he could reach, his hips rocking hard and fast into him, drinking up every moan he pulled from Tony's throat.

"Feel so good, doll, made for me, God, your body is made for me!"

It was no use trying to hold back, his hips snapped forward, and he was coming, crying out and biting down on Tony's shoulder. He was never a rude lover, he had something to finish, regardless of how spent he felt. Tony, the poor human puddle he was, was easy to manhandle into his back, and Steve sucked at the hollow on his throat, taking him in hand.

Tony's legs clamped around him as he came, a gurgled moan ripping from his throat, his fingers dragging down Steve's arms. "Fuck!"

And they were left breathless and panting into each other's necks.

"Holy fuck, Rogers. What was that?"

Steve frowned. "Too much?"

"Fuck no. Let that animal out more often!"

Steve had just sat up, too worn to care about clean-up, and was tugging the blankets over them when there was a knock. And the door swung open.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and please tell me what you think!


	5. What Even is Objectivity Anymore?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard formulates a plan, and Steve and Tony find themselves at odds over how to handle everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit to get up! I got a little sidetracked with TSB.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> As usual, ALL the love for my beta and cheer readers: Lan, Rachel, and Wilma.

Howard spent approximately one half hour sitting on the bed in the guest room contemplating exactly what had just happened in the hallway. Steve had basically threatened him - and sure, he deserved it - but if he was going to win Tony over and fix this, he needed Steve as an ally. Hell, he'd come to the future to see the soldier to begin with, regardless of the sharp left-hand turn this little trip had taken. Shifting on the bed, he used the momentum to tuck a knee under his body, leaning slightly to the left against one of the absurdly fluffy pillows. His priorities had certainly switched in life before, but never this…quickly?

Another shift and Howard was kneeling on the mattress like he was about to pray. His hands immediately went to do, well, anything else. The thought of a God who gave a crap about him was laughable. Steve believed, at least Howard thought he still did, and that faith was certainly inspiring, if a little annoying. If the Old Guy did exist, he had no time for alcoholic child abusers.

Which reminded Howard that he hadn't had anything to drink the entire day, and his body was trembling lightly. _Ignore_.

Back to Steve.

He shifted when the tremors made his thigh muscles quake with how he was sitting. His face screwed up in concentration. The physical withdrawal symptoms were temporary, he just needed to remember that. Sliding his legs out from under him, he fell back, arms splayed out and a light sheen of sweat along his brow. He took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled loudly. The whole team was obviously close, but Steve and Tony seemed to have a special bond. They spent most of their time together, and if Howard felt an obtrusive pang of jealousy, he pushed it down with two fists banging into the mattress.

"Enough of that!" Lecturing himself wasn't something he normally did, but sometimes it was necessary. He was not the greatest listener at the best of times, but if he was going to hear anyone, it would be his own damn self. "It's not like Steve knew you were going to hop into the future, and of course he'd need a friend. Naturally another Stark would fit the bill." Which was an awful thing to say, and he knew it. Tony wasn't a stand in for Howard. But it did make him feel a bit better.

Yet… It didn't seem right to shove Tony into that category. He was a good man. Hell, he was a genius superhero who was willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Howard had the internet now. He saw the video. Tony left him in the dust. Even if _he_ had turned out to barely be worth the air he breathed, Tony was worth the whole of the atmosphere. Somehow, he had done that right. Despite it all, his child grew into a good and kind man, one willing to forfeit his own life for people he didn't even know.

Rolling to his side, Howard groaned and covered his face. Seeing the footage of the attack was horrifying. The blue beam pointed to a split up sky, the twisted visages of the Chitauri as they attacked Manhattan. The wreckage and carnage, the piles of dead. And Tony. His own flesh and blood, a man whose brain, logically speaking, was worth more than any common civilian, flying up to his own death to save them all. And somehow miraculously surviving. The luck of the Starks continued.

Steve couldn't have chosen a better person to align himself to. Stark or not - Howard was learning that a name really meant fuck all - Tony _was_ indeed a good man - a great one even - and he deserved Steve's friendship. He deserved a better father than someone who would lose himself into drink and violence.

_How_ could he ever have struck such a wonderful child?

"I'm not that man yet." He pushed off the bed, stumbling to his feet, the aches in his body becoming shockingly pronounced as he allowed himself to be made aware of them. " _I'm not that man yet!_ "

He shivered, his thoughts circling back to his conversation with Natasha and Clint and how they had plans to _make him forget_.

_Fat chance._

He'd let them believe what they wanted, but if they honestly thought he was going back without remembering, they were wrong. Howard never feared for his future prior to this. Not even a little bit. He greeted each day as a brand new set of hours to accomplish what he pleased. Worrying about what might happen was only asking for trouble. That was for Catholics and men in the fox hole.

Or so he thought.

Knowing what he knew _at that moment_ meant he could do only one thing, and that was to make sure he remembered _everything_ so that when he did go back, he could be better. Do better. Give Tony the childhood he deserved and make sure that Tony, Steve - and the rest of the Avengers as well - were nowhere near New York when the shit hit the fan. At the very least, he could devise a way for them to win without the Iron Man armor, if his being a better father really did keep Tony from making it. See? It was foolproof! He just needed to hammer out a few minor details. Inconsequential, really.

The internet really was enlightening, but that meant he knew without a doubt that he was no longer around. That didn't mean he couldn't set plans into motion; Howard was never known to be a quitter. Number one being that as soon as he got back, he'd unfreeze Steve the second it was possible. That was in the original plan, but now it was imperative. He needed Steve as the catalyst. The impetus that would fix _everything_ he had managed to fuck up.

There was nothing he could do until they found a way to get him back (not that he was being very helpful), no way to plan and plot until he was back in 1961. Howard wouldn't exactly say he was dragging his feet by offering no further details as to how he got to the future, and it wasn't like he was outwardly _lying_. He wasn't even omitting. They had just assumed he said all he knew. And maybe he was silently encouraging them to continue to believe that. Especially now that he knew Tony was his son and exactly what he did to him. It was imperative he have all the time he could get to repair that relationship. Just in case.

Because although Howard was going to do everything in his power to keep his memory intact, there was a little, teeny, _tiny_ voice in the back of his mind telling him that they may succeed in that regardless. Which meant he had to be prepared for it to happen, and leaving without giving Tony _something_ resembling peace just seemed like a shitty way to spend a trip to the future. Number one on _that_ to-do list was getting _this_ Steve on his side.

Mind made up, Howard slid off the bed and padded silently to the hallway. Small lights at the baseboards led his way. There was a chance that Steve was already asleep, but if he knew the soldier at all (and maybe he no longer did), Steve was laying wide awake, his own thoughts spinning around like a carnival ride. He took a moment to prepare what he was going to say (he wouldn't call it groveling, but that's what it was) and knocked three sharp raps on the door, pushing it open without waiting for an answer.

"Steve, I want you to hear me-- oh shit! Sorry!" He was definitely not expecting Steve, distinctly post coitus, in bed with someone. He laughed loudly. Steve's bed sat with its head against the wall to his left, and he had a side view of the couple scrambling to hide.

"Howard!" Steve had been in the process of pulling the blankets over himself and his lover, kneeling above her. The shock caused him to flail out, his knee slipping as he lost his balance, and crashing down on top too quickly for Howard to see a face. "What are you doing?!" His face was red from the prior exertion of the sex, drops of sweat catching on the blankets he was hastily pulling up to cover whoever she was. He hovered, his body leaned slightly to the left to shield Howard's view and his arms braced in front of her face.

"Didn't mean to interrupt! But, ah, Steve? Relax, it's just me. Your lady friend is safe! I don't steal! Promise!" Holding his hands up, Howard shot his best innocent grin. "But I will offer my congratulations on having a little piece." As unexpected as this was, perhaps it meant common ground between them; he would take any opening he could (and so did Steve, apparently).

Steve's head turned sharply to face him. "What? My lady..? Just turn around!" If at all possible, he was coloring a deeper red.

"Steve, I'm _just_ saying, you have nothing to worry about." Howard saw a slight tuft of brown hair in between the blankets and Steve's body as she slinked to the edge of the bed and slid to the floor. A tuft of hair and, whoa. That was a perfect ass.

Howard stepped around the bed, fully aware he was being, well, himself, and treading on already thin ice. But whoever she was had scurried underneath, the bed skirt swaying as a heel disappeared. "Damn, Stevie! I don't know who she is, but she sure does have a nice behind!"

Steve let his head drop to the pillow, still braced on his forearms, an exasperated groan muffled by the fabric as he hit the pillow with his fist. "I'm gonna stop you while you're ahead, Howard."

"Why? What's the fun in that?"

"Go!" Steve pointed to the door, "Living room. I'll meet you out there."

"Killjoy."

"Howard, just...Please?" Maneuvering into a sitting position, the blankets wrapped around his waist, Steve huffed and pointed again. "Go!"

Howard made a face and grunted. "Fine!" But as he turned to leave, he threw over his shoulder, "Nice to meet you, Steve's Nice Assed Lady Friend!"

The last thing Howard saw before he closed the door was Steve flopped backwards on the bed, throwing his arms over his face.

\---

Steve's, well, Steve's _largeness_ , that Tony adored each time he felt covered and protected by him, apparently served another purpose. Howard - the nosy bastard - hadn't seen that it was _him_. Although, his therapist would have her work cut out if she ever got wind of his own father's comments about his ass (Not that he was wrong, mind you). Above him, the bed creaked.

"You can come out now."

"See, that's the opposite of what I should be doing." The carpet under his back was itchy, but Tony didn't move. He had a point to make. "Coming out, that is. Seems counterproductive."

The sigh Steve expelled had Tony grinning into the darkness of his hiding spot. "Anthony."

"Oh, boy, full name. I seem to be in trouble."

"Would you get your _fine ass_ up here?" It was said with a huff of exasperation and a slap to the mattress. Tony chuckled and wiggled his way out from under the bed.

"At least we're all in agreement on _that_ ," he said, standing and sliding onto the bed next to Steve. "It really _is_ a universal truth."

"Tony." Shaking his head, Steve kissed him. "I love you. Now hang tight, I'll be back soon. I need to go deal with your father."

"Those aren't the right words at all," he teased, cupping the back of Steve's neck to bring him down for another kiss. "The right words are: _Let me use my tongue to clean up the mess I made._ "

" _Or_ you can go shower, and I'll be back in a jiffy." With one more deep kiss, Steve stood and scooped his bottoms from the floor, tugging them on before pulling his t-shirt over his head.

Tony leaned forward suggestively, "Oh, good. No underwear. Easy access for later." He made a grab for the waistband, but Steve stepped back out of his reach.

" _Later_ being the operative word."

"Semantics," Tony mumbled, flopping backwards on the bed and spreading his legs. He trailed a hand up his thigh and let a finger dip inside. "What do you want more? To discuss your sex life with Howard or to live it with me?"

Steve's eyes darkened. "I think we both know the answer to that, you insatiable maniac."

Tony smirked, and let his face fall into one of ecstasy, dropping his head back and rolling his hips, back arching off the bed. He let out an exaggerated moan, pulling some of Steve's spend up to drag along his length. "Are you absolutely positive you want to leave me when I'm _like this_."

"Not at all, but I don't have much of a choice." His body was tense, Tony knew he almost had him. "Aren't you at the least bit concerned that Howard's almost caught us?"

"He didn't. I'm not involved in this equation. _You are._ It's basic math, darling. He doesn't know it was me. But he knows it was _you._ "

"You, my angel," Steve grinned, giving in just a little to taste Tony's lips again, "are a pest of epic proportions."

"How can I be a pest and an angel all at once? That's contradictory." Tony's eyes narrowed slightly and he slid one of his hands around Steve's waist, pulling gently.

"You being so antithetical is part of why I fell in love with you in the first place," he murmured against Tony's mouth. "I love that you redefine terms, reinvent them like your creations."

"Using your big boy words, I see. I'm not sure if I should be offended or not?" Inch by inch, he was guiding Steve back onto the bed. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Yes," Steve purred, and with both hands cupping around Tony's face, he tilted his head back and kissed him breathless. All tongue and teeth, passion driven by his unlimited adoration and love for Tony. Enough so that Tony could feel those emotions winding through his body and heating his skin. "I love you. I love that you're everything you wish to be, and nothing you don't. Never forget that, Shellhead." One more press of lips, and he was out the door, leaving Tony feeling hot and wanting on the bed.

Once the sound of the door clicking shut was heard, Tony fell back against the mattress. "Tease," he grumbled, though a smirk played on his face. Steve would pay for that.

With nothing else to do aside from waiting, he made his way into the bathroom to shower, all the while contemplating just how bad it would be if Howard found out about his and Steve's relationship. He could be furious and that, Tony supposed, was the most likely. Things were different back then, abjectly so if the beginnings of his and Steve's affair was anything to go by. Steve had been terrified of being found out, had tried to hide his attraction behind cool words and avoidance of Tony all together. It wasn't until Tony had dragged him to NYC Pride that it began to sink into Steve's handsome head that the world really was more welcoming of same sex relationships. There was a long way to go, of course, and they finally compromised by coming out to their friends but not to the media and the public.

Tony had to admit a certain relief at that. This was the most stable relationship he had been in, and it was the forever type. He didn't want to impede his one chance at true happiness. They would come out when they were both good and ready, and not a moment sooner.

Howard _could_ be supportive as well - though less likely - which is what Tony hoped for. It was inevitable that they would be found out. He was a scientist, after all, and the variables were against them. Howard was sharing quarters with the two, and something or someone was bound to slip. But, Howard was contrite over what he would turn into and that guilt might aid in softening his stance against a healthy - but still gay - relationship. If Tony were to be honest, he was more afraid of Howard finding out his own son was gay and not that Captain America was.

The more Tony thought about it, the more he knew that he had to be the one to tell Howard. It was the only way to exert any control over the situation. If Howard was to find out - and it was only a matter of time - it was infinitely better if he was told rather than figure it out on his own.

Howard had been so proud to learn of Tony's accomplishments. He spoke with wonder over his genius. It had felt so good to get that recognition he had craved for years growing up under the abusive version of that man. It was something that had followed Tony to adulthood, that need for approval. The thought of losing what little acceptance he had attained was frightening, but if he wasn't the one to inform Howard of their relationship, the chances of keeping that dropped significantly.

If only parents knew the impact their words had on their children, how a phrase or a fist could shape them long after they were in a hole in the ground.

Steve was overprotective and oftentimes overstepped his boundaries, but it was understandable to a point. It was he - not Howard - who had been tasked with cleaning up that particular mess.

\---

"Knocking," Steve began, leaning against the door frame and studying Howard's silhouette against the window, "is a polite move that is meant to save both parties embarrassment." He kept his voice tempered and cold.

Turning away from the skyline, Howard looked at least a little abashed, although not by much; he was still Howard Stark, after all. Steve was at once both amused and angered.

"Who is she?" Howard inquiried. "How did you even get her up here without my knowing?" There was a bit of pride for Steve flashing across his handsome face.

Rocking his head side to side, weighing how to answer, Steve crossed his arms. "No one I wish to discuss with you, but I can say that this person is the absolute love of my life. Knock next time. _Then wait for an answer."_ Pushing off the door frame, he stepped into the living room, arms still tight against his chest. "Don't just barge in. You don't get that courtesy, Howard. That's for _friends_."

"Ouch."

Steve ignored the comment. "You've got my attention now. What did you want to talk with me about?"

"Tony."

"Off limits." He jerked his head, gesturing to Howard's bruised cheek. "How's your face?" It was said with mock sympathy, and Howard winced again.

"I'll live."

"I'd say pity, but I need you. As much as I hate to admit it, without you there's no Tony." He sat languidly on the couch, throwing a leg up on the cushions, trying to exude false bravado. Though he wanted nothing more than to hit Howard again, he was acutely aware that regardless of how angry he felt, there was still a small light inside of him that kept the love he once had for Howard Stark warm.

"Steve, I can't change what happened to Tony. I _want_ to, but Natasha and Clint made it clear. I can't change it." Steve wouldn't look at Howard, so he moved, stepping into Steve's vision and adjusting every time he looked away. "I'm asking for your help, please!"

"I can't help you."

"Can't, or won't?" Again, Steve looked away, this time out through the window. Howard stepped around the couch, blocking his sight. "I don't understand it, Steve, no more than I understand how I turn into a beast. But I _know_ I love him. This me, right now. This Howard loves him. They say there's no explanation for a parent's love, and I swore off children years ago, but I swear to you Steve, if he were to be born tomorrow for me, in 1961, I would love him fiercely. _I don't know what happens to me._ But I _want_ to do right by him. _I have to_."

Were they just pretty words? Could Steve believe him?

He didn't think so. But Steve knew beyond anything else that he would do whatever it took to make Tony happy.

"What do you want from me?"

"Just your support."

Seeing a flash of red shoot across his vision, Steve stood and hastily put distance between him and Howard. "How dare you," he spit. "How dare you ask me to support you? Who the hell do you think you are? No!" he snapped when Howard opened his mouth to speak, "You don't get to talk. I-" he roughly jabbed his finger into his own chest, "get to talk now. You had your turn." Howard nodded once, wisely keeping quiet. " _I_ was the one who helped put his pieces back together, _I_ was the one who encouraged him to trust the others enough so he could see how much we love him. _Me._ Not you! And _we_ ," throwing his arms out, he angrily gestured around him, indicating the other occupants of the tower, "are the ones who showed him that he deserves love and happiness. That he's not worthless. That it's okay to _not be perfect_. You have _no idea_ what you did to him!"

"Then tell me!" Howard exploded. "I don't know how many times I have to say it, but I'll say it a thousand times more if that's what it takes! _I am not that man yet!"_

"YOU WILL BE!" He roared back, chest heaving with his fury.

Howard's face paled, and he stumbled backwards until his knees hit the edge of the couch, sinking down. He couldn't meet Steve's eyes. "I know. Which is why I need your help. Anything, Steve, do you hear me? Anything I can do to ease the hurt I caused." He floundered for a moment, mouth opening and closing with all the words he needed to say but couldn't. "I will be that man. But not yet." Swallowing, he finally lifted his eyes to connect with Steve's. "So, this is my only shot at being the father I could have been."

Steve had no words to even begin to respond to that. Instead, he turned on his heels and left, his feet heavy on the marble floors, slamming the door to his bedroom behind him.

\---

Natasha paused at the door to her room that led to the hallway. It was open just enough to hear the raised voices in the living room. Across the hall, she could see Clint staring back at her with wide eyes, his own door open just a crack as well. She waved her hand, motioning for him to come into her quarters. He peeked his head out, checking to see if the coast was clear, and skirted across the floor and into her room, shutting the door soundlessly behind him.

"What the fuck did I just hear?"

Natasha shook her head, her face worried. "Steve completely losing his cool, I think. Wasn't sure that was entirely possible."

"Think he'll kill Howard?" She could tell he was only partly joking, but it was the part that wasn't that worried her.

"No." Turning, she headed toward her kitchenette. "He wouldn't risk losing Tony over that. Tea?" The kettle was already on the stove, steam rising from the spout. Steve might hurt Howard, but he wouldn't chance altering Tony's birth, his temper notwithstanding.

"Something stronger, if you don't mind." He gave her a nod as she pulled the whiskey from the shelf. "Two steps forward and one back, huh? Dinner went well, so I guess…" Holding his hands out, palm up, he raised his shoulders and dropped them. "This is a mess."

"What else is new?" They remained quiet as she made the tea and poured a generous helping of whiskey into both mugs. Handing one to Clint, she motioned with her head to the little seating area opposite her bed.

He sat, pulling a stuffed bear from behind him and setting it on the back of the couch. "I'm beginning to think this isn't a good idea, Tash."

Unsure of what to say, Natasha took a long sip of her drink to buy a few precious seconds, her face darkened with confusion. "Of course it's a good idea. No one said it was going to be easy."

"I'm not sure pissing Cap off is ever a good idea."

"Steve is, well." She paused, tilting her head so her red hair fell onto her shoulder. "He's overprotective. Especially of Tony. And let's face it," she pressed on before Clint could answer, "someone needs to be."

"Point. But Tony's also a grown ass man, Nat," he said, lifting a finger to enunciate what he was saying, "And he won't even admit that he was abused. Is it really the right thing to force him to? That's just going to hurt him even more."

"You're an idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"All of you! Everyone with a penis!" She threw her hands into the air, exasperated. "Tony _can't heal_ until he faces what happened to him as a child! Hell, none if you can! God forbid, Clint, you talk about your parent's deaths, or your brother!"

"Pot, kettle, Tash."

She waved her hand, pushing away his comment. "The fact of the matter, Clint, is Tony _needs_ this. Let me ask you a question." She leaned toward him, eyebrows raised. "If you were given a chance to make amends with your brother, would you?"

He looked away, eyes shadowed by his own past. "You know I would."

"Then doesn't Tony deserve the same chance now that it's been brought before him?" she implored. "He's been given an opportunity we can only dream of!"

"But at what cost, Natasha? Steve? Because if we keep pushing this, then Steve is going to feel like he has no other choice than to continue trying to protect Tony." He set his mug down and stood, walking to her bookcase and plucking a random title from the shelf. Running his fingers down the spine, he continued. "They already fought over Steve overstepping. What good will Tony and Howard reconciling be if he loses Steve over it?"

Shaking her head, Natasha pushed up from the couch and took the book from his hands. "It would take an army to move Steve from Tony's side. Even then only long enough to kill them all for daring to try and separate them in the first place."

"It's not Steve that I worry about leaving."

"Tony? He would rather lose his hands than leave Steve!"

Clint closed his eyes, sighing. "That's not what I mean, Nat. He would feel he had no other choice. Tony isn't controllable; he doesn't like people speaking or acting _for_ him. It would be another choice out of his hands, but he would do it."

"No, you don't know him as well as-" she stopped, slamming the book back on the shelf. "If he were to leave Steve, it would be because he thought it was for Cap's own good. That he was the reason behind the forcing of Steve's hand. He would find some way to _blame himself_. But," she said, taking two steps backwards, "if he were to get some closure with Howard, he may not blame himself. He may not chase Steve away.

"We're all damaged in some way, Clint. It's what makes us so _good_ at what we do as Avengers. The perfect cannot objectively defend. But that doesn't mean we don't deserve the ability to fill in some of those cracks."

He dropped his head, conceding, if only slightly. "I agree, Nat, but I ask again. At what cost?"

"How much is healing worth to you, Clint? Tell me that?" She knew he couldn't answer, because how can one put a price on that?

\---

In the morning, Tony slipped into the shower with Steve, running his hands up his chest and kissing the tension he felt there. He let Steve take him against the wall, fast and passionate, Steve's teeth leaving marks on his shoulder. He shook with his climax, knees growing weak, and allowed Steve to carry him back to bed. There, they stayed until the afternoon, teasing and edging each other until they tumbled away into the first fully restful sleep they had in days.

As twilight settled around Manhattan, they woke curled around each other to missed calls and hungry stomachs. Tony made sandwiches while Steve texted the others, telling them they were staying away for the rest of the evening and would remerge the next morning. It was a break both of them needed from the insanity of what was going on.

Climbing onto the bed and plopping next to Steve, still naked but content, Tony handed him a plate stacked with sandwiches and tossed two bottles of water onto the bedding. They ate and drank their fill and pushed the plate to the floor along with the empty bottles, and Steve took him again.

"You're going to make me burn the bacon. Haven't you had enough?" Steve chastised, as Tony's hands explored his chest. He stood behind Steve, the side of his face pressed into the warmth of his shoulder, his hands dancing along his skin, running over Steve's nipples and making the soldier's breath quicken.

"Never have enough," he whispered, kissing the skin beneath his cheek. "Forget the bacon and eat me instead."

Laughing, Steve twisted his body enough to capture Tony's lips. "Insatiable. How can an old man like me keep up?"

"There's this lovely invention: Viagra. Bob Dole swears by it."

"Who?"

Tony's laugh was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Better go answer that. Don't forget your pants. We don't need to feed Clint's inferiority complex when he sees that your largeness isn't just limited to your height." His hand, sneaking down, wrapped around Steve's length, and he revealed in the moan it caused.

"You'll be the death of me."

"Oh, but such a sweet death!"

Snorting, Steve handed him the spatula. "Turn the bacon in three minutes. You're reminding me why I don't cook naked!" He tossed the last part over his shoulder as he pulled his pajamas on.

"Really? And here I was thinking it was the splatter!"

Moving in front of the stove, Tony kept an ear open for who was at the door. Hearing Bruce's calming tone, he tuned them both out, concentrating instead on the task at hand. Tony couldn't cook at the best of times; he simply didn't have the patience for it. But he refused to let Steve's bacon burn.

He counted to the second and flipped each piece, bending down enough to inhale the savory aroma. The door clicked shut, and Steve was behind him a moment later, arms encircling his waist.

"That was Bruce. He wanted to know if we would like to go to lunch with him later. Or a late brunch. Anything to get out of this godforsaken tower. His words, not mine."

"This ugly old thing?" Tony teased, turning in Steve's arms to face him. "And yes, please. I feel like we've been trapped in here for days."

"We _have_ been trapped in here for days."

"Oh, would you look at that!" Brandishing the spatula, Tony grinned. "Tag you're it. I'm going to shower. Think I'm covered in your jizz."

"Eloquent."

Tony bowed. "'Tis a gift, beloved."

"Hurry up, I'm next!" He swatted at Tony with the spatula, laughing as Tony jumped out of the way, narrowly missing getting hit.

"You could join me?" He asked coyly, raising his eyebrows and waggling them.

Shaking his head, Steve turned back to the stove. "If I join you, we'll get nothing done today."

"Your point?"

"Bruce is waiting."

Tony sighed dramatically. " _Fine!_ I'll go all by my lonesome. Just little ol' me. Naked and soapy and _wanting._ "

Steve was obviously conflicted, looking back and forth between the bacon and Tony. "You're making me choose between sex and food. Again. That's not fair." Tony smirked, trailing his hand down his abdomen. He was just about to touch himself when Steve snapped his eyes shut and swung around to face the stove. "Nope! Your wiles will not work on me, demon! Go! Be gone!" He wildly gestured in the vicinity of the bathroom, the spatula flapping up and down.

"You can't resist me forever, Rogers!" Tony sang out, giving in to the need to shower. "I'll get details from Bruce, you heathen!" He pulled his phone from the extra charging stand he kept in Steve's room, scrolling through his recent calls. Putting the phone up to his ear, he listened to it ring, "Babe, what do you want for lunch?"

The answering yell of, "BACON!" had him chuckling as Bruce answered.

"It lives!" Bruce laughed, and Tony rolled his eyes, grinning.

"Steve and I just needed a day, I guess. Didn't plan on it, it just kinda happened."

"We figured," Bruce said, and Tony could tell he was on speaker by the echo he heard of his own voice when he responded.

"I think Steve needed it more than me." He settled at the edge of the bed, looking at Steve as he placed the cooked bacon on paper towels. The curved dip in Steve's back that protruded out to his ass had Tony tilting his head in appreciation. He spoke low, but he knew Steve's enhanced hearing could pick up on every word he said. "I'm worried for him.”

"And what about you?" Bruce asked astutely. Tony could hear the clanking of beakers and phials, and he found himself missing his workshop and Bruce's lab, quiet nights bent over their experiments, joking with each other and doing eighth grade science projects just for the fuck of it. It had been days since he let himself fall into the security of his work. Howard had derailed any attempt he made.

"I'm fine. Lunch will do me good. Though I find myself surprised you'd willingly leaving the tower again. That's three times in, what? A week?"

"You're not fine; don't change the subject."

Tony couldn't help it. He smiled. How had he gone from a misanthropic man with media tendencies, to someone whose friends and teammates knew him better than anyone? His list used to be only Rhodey and Pepper and to some extent Happy. These days, Bruce, Natasha, Clint, and even Thor when he was on earth could see through almost all of his masks. And Steve? Steve didn't just know him biblically, he had been allowed in further than even Rhodey.

"I'm not, but I will be." He paused. "Thank you, Brucie Bear."

"For what, Your Grace?"

He laughed loudly. "Shut up, you idiot. You know for what."

"Yeah, well, it's nice to hear it. You're welcome, Tony. You've done the same for me."

"Quite a pair, we are." Standing, Tony moved to Steve's dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt he could wear after he had showered. "So, lunch. What are we in the mood for?"

"German. I'm in the mood for sauerbraten."

"That's funny," Tony said coyly, his lips quirked up at the corners, "I'm always in the mood for bratwurst. German it is."

"Gross."

"Oh, darling, don't you want to hear about how Steve and I barely left the bed yesterday?" Grinning wider as Steve turned to snort at him over his shoulder, Tony laid the clothing on the bed and chuckled at Bruce's sputtering.

"No! So happy you're getting some, but you are not invited to share with the class!" Even if he couldn't see him, Tony _knew_ Bruce's face was red with embarrassment. Oh well. That's what he got for choosing Tony as his best friend. "Forget it. I don't want to go to lunch with two horn dogs."

"Too late to back out, honey. See you at two?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Bruce dismissed him, hanging up as Tony's laugh echoed along the line.

Placing the bacon and a plate filled with eggs on the table, Steve gave Tony an inquisitive look.

"German. At two. I know just the place in the East Village. But first, breakfast."

" _Now_ you want bacon?" Hands on his hips, Steve cocked his head to the side, he did well enough to look the vision of an annoyed and harassed boyfriend, but Tony knew better.

"Appetizer first. Then bacon. Then finally a shower."

"It's going to get cold." Steve pointed to the plates, but his eyes took on an impish gleam in the clear blue.

"Lay down," he instructed, "and spread those legs for me. I want inside of you, and I want it now."

Steve didn't have to be told twice. It wasn't often that Tony took him, both preferring the other way, but when it did, they shook with pleasure all the same.

Tony prepared him slowly and sank into his body with a moan. The food was ice cold when they finally got around to eating it, but neither cared. They were sated and hungry and content - for the moment - to be together, just the two of them.

\---

The Village Lantern was a small family owned German tavern that had been around since the mid nineteenth century. They boasted all sorts of German fare and a whole menu dedicated to beer they made in house. Bruce had only been once before, not long after the Chitauri, with Tony. Their sauerbraten was incredible, and he set the menu aside without even opening it.

"Bratwurst or schweinshaxe?" Tony asked, looking over his menu at Steve and Bruce, though Steve couldn't see it. He had his nose buried in the folds of the pages, sometimes making a noise of appreciation for what he saw and sometimes making a sound of disgust. Tony shook his head, amused, and turned to Bruce.

"Do I look like someone who read the menu? I knew what I wanted as soon as we walked in. Get the schweinshaxe, bratwurst is common." With that said, he plucked the menu from Tony's hands and set it on top of his. "I think Steve is having a harder time deciding."

"What even _is_ half of this?" Steve flipped his palm open and thrust it toward the menu. "I never knew German food could be so complicated."

Smiling softly, Tony pulled the menu from his hands. "Weisswurst. Trust me."

"Good move," Bruce supplied, "that's like bacon sausage. From what I hear, you're kind of obsessed."

"Whatever," Steve grabbed a piece of bread from the basket and tore it in two. "Bacon is delicious." He shoved half into his mouth, grinning at Bruce.

"I've said it before," Bruce said as he raised his glass to toast Tony, "Tony's had a bad influence on you."

Tony lifted his beer tankard. "Hear! Hear!"

"He has not," Steve mumbled into his beer, but he was smiling, looking pleased.

After they had ordered and their meals came, along with refills of Steve and Tony's beer and Bruce's soda, they tucked in. Steve groaned appreciatively, chewing on a bit of sausage with delight in his eyes.

"Holy smokes, that's really good!"

"Knew you'd like it." Bruce could tell Tony wanted nothing more than to take Steve's hand. He could see his fingers twitch in contemplation, but though their friends were supportive and accepting of their relationship and the country's view was shifting, society as a whole was not. He hated that they had to hide.

There were precious few things in the world Bruce held above science, but a love like Steve and Tony had was one of them. He envied, but he always supported. He knew there were many who would rally around Captain America and Iron Man's relationship, but there were just as many who wouldn't.

It hurt to see the stunted movements as they fought to not touch each other in public, and Bruce clapped on hand on Tony's shoulder in comfort. Tony graced him with a small but appreciative smile.

"So," he said, leaning back in his chair and looking at Tony and then Steve, "enjoy your one day vacay? Howard was beside himself that Tony didn't emerge all day."

Tony winced, looking at Steve a little guiltily. "It was needed, as I said, but I didn't mean to upset him."

Steve scoffed, and Bruce threw him a glare. He schooled his features. "Just because Howard decided to take a trip through time doesn't mean he gets to monopolize Tony's time."

Sighing, Bruce gave Steve a pleading look. "I don't think Howard is trying to _monopolize_ Tony's time, Steve. I just think that he's excited about finding out he has a kid. I mean, I know I would be-"

"-A kid he ends up abusing, you mean."

"Steve!" Bruce felt his heart drop. He knew how much Steve loved Tony; he saw it every time he set eyes on him, but Steve could be really thick sometimes. His need to protect those he loved stemmed from losing everything he knew. Bruce understood that, but it didn't make Steve's actions always right. He was protective, but it could be suffocating, especially for Tony who had been on his own almost his entire life. Tony had a voice all his own, and he was never afraid to use it. Steve needed to understand that.

"I'm not going to say it again, Steve," Tony responded dangerously. "I wasn't abused. Howard was a bastard, but I'm not some charity case. I don't _need_ saving. And I _don't_ need you to speak for me."

"Tones," Steve deflated, swirling his beer around in his glass and looking defeated. "I'm not saying you need to be saved. And I don't mean to speak for you, but _someone_ has to! There no shame in admitting-"

"There's nothing to admit!"

Bruce held his hands up, trying to diffuse the fight before it escalated. "Whether or not Tony was abused isn't up to you to decide, Steve. And it's neither here nor there at this point. We have a unique situation in which the man that may or may not-" he glanced at Tony, placating, "-have abused Tony in his future is here now, and not only is he fully aware of what he did, but he's pre…" he faltered, struggling to find the right words. "Pre whatever he turned into."

"Thank you," Tony's hand flew up into the air, signaling that what Bruce said was all that needed to be laid out. "A _unique situation_. Precisely. My science bro gets it."

Steve's face hardened, and Bruce had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from scolding him. _Why couldn't he just let things go?_ "Who's side are you on?" Steve snapped, thunking his glass onto the table.

"Tony's!" Bruce could feel the edges of his vision going green, and he shook his head, trying to shake away the Other Guy. Hulk was probably as protective over Tony as Steve was. "This isn't a you versus Howard thing, Steve. The only side we should be on is Tony's."

"You think I'm not on Tony's side?"

"And here we go again." Tony grumbled, annoyed, into his lunch. He threw his fork down. "Talking about me like I'm not even here."

Bruce sent Tony an apologetic look before turning back to Steve. "I think _you_ think you're doing what you believe is best for Tony. But that's not your decision to make." Picking at the edge of his napkin, Bruce balled it up and tossed it on the table. So much for a nice lunch. "I know what Natasha thinks is right - and that she has Clint on her side. I know that Rhodey is on the fence, but he's leaning in Nat's direction. Hell, I even know what Howard wants. All of that has been discussed _at length._ But, personally, I want to hear what _Tony thinks._ "

"I think," Tony swallowed, looking down at his lap. "I think for the first time in my life, I have a father who is proud of me." His eyes lifted, connecting with Steve's imploringly. "I've never had that before."

It was instinct, Bruce thought, that Steve's hand reached out to fold over Tony's. Bruce said nothing, but he did send a quiet prayer to a God he wasn't sure he believed in that no one was photographing them. Tony needed that physical touch.

Steve's mouth opened and shut spastically a few times before he was able to relay what he wanted to say. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Steve-" Tony shook his head sadly, "-I get hurt." He shrugged, his head tilting minutely. "It happens. Whether it's this or something else, it's going to happen. You can't shield me from everything."

"Maybe not." Steve's voice was barely above a whisper. He tightened his hold on Tony's hand. "But I'm going to try. I love you. I love you so much it scares me sometimes. I don't want to lose you. Wouldn't you do the same?"

Tony's shoulders dropped in concession. "You know I would."

"Exactly. That's what people who love each other do."

"You gotta let me talk and think for myself, babe." Tony lifted one corner of his lips. It was an act of understanding but not one of relent. "Let me use my big boy words and everything." Both Steve and Bruce chuckled at that. Leave it to Tony to bring the tension down with a bad joke. "Steve, you have to let me decide on my own. You say you don't want to lose me, but if you keep-" He paused, changing direction. "I love you. But sometimes I want to punch you. You gotta let me be me."

That brought a laugh from Steve. "That's fair. But, Tones, I need to be me as well."

Tony looked a little sad at that. "I know. That's what scares me."

All Bruce could do at that point was signal the waiter for their check.

\---

"JARVIS," Pepper asked quietly as she stepped into the elevator, "how is Tony holding up?"

"Sir is as Sir always is. He attempts to show the world a face of general _okay-ness_."

She let out a little snort at that. "So," she said slowly, "he's a mess."

A screen opened on the wall in front of Pepper, showing Tony as he left that afternoon with Steve and Bruce. The smile on his face was wide and full, but to Pepper's trained eyes it was easy to see the tension. He kept himself flanked by Steve and Bruce, for once not sauntering off to the fans waiting outside, skirting security and going off on his own. He stayed close, like they were baby blankets he couldn't be parted with. The thirty seconds of video she saw was confirmation enough. He was a mess.

It had taken too long to get back to New York, and she worried about the effect this was having on Tony and how her absence may have made it worse.

Pepper understood that Tony had developed special friendships with the other Avengers - and she was glad of it. He needed more people in his corner, but she and he had a bond that even Rhodey couldn't touch. It was something that their own tumultuous romance had been unable to break, something that Steve (and she was beyond happy that Tony had found love in Steve) didn't have with him either.

She had been there from the beginning. Sure, Rhodey had been too, but he was oftentimes unavailable. Pepper was Tony's daily support, and that meant something bigger. She was there when he returned from Afghanistan, there through the whole debacle with Stane, there through it all. She had seen Tony through his manic building frenzies and his inevitable collapse afterwards. Had seen him go through countless one night stands searching for _contact_ and _love_ that didn't come with a contract, even if he never admitted it out loud. She saw him on the days his anxiety rang so loudly he could barely leave his bedroom, and she saw him triumphantly beat it all.

She had watched as he finally found a partner he could grow old with, as he learned to deal with his PTSD and mental illness, and as he stabilized his life.

Tony Stark was her _best friend_. As much as she witnessed for him, he witnessed for her. You couldn't touch their bond, and no one tried to.

_"Miss Potts, this is Clint Barton. Uh, Hawkeye? Listen, I know you don't know me very well, but something happened. Tony needs you. Howard, that is, uh, Tony's father? He's come to the future. Uhm, 1961 Howard, I mean, he's from 1961. Anyway, I know how close you two are and Tony's kinda a mess right now, and if you could call me back or just, you know, get to the tower. He needs you. Uh, thanks. Bye. Oh! You can reach me on this number. Sorry, bye!"_

The voicemail was still saved on her phone, but she had listened to it enough to memorize it. The first time, her mouth had gone slack at the shock of it, and she had called Tony immediately, but through his slew of _I'm fine_ and _No need to get your panties in a bunch,_ she had figured out exactly how badly he needed her.

_"Just a few days, Tony. I promise, I'll be there as soon as I can."_

The elevator opened, and Pepper stepped out of the hallway and into the kitchen, her heels clicking in the way she loved best: authority on marble. A man was seated at the kitchen island, sipping coffee and ignoring a bag of chips open in front of him. She knew without asking that _this_ was Howard Stark. Even dressed in jeans she remembered were Tony's (she was pretty sure she picked them out for him) and a faded Yankees jersey she was positive came from Tony's closet, he still had a _certain something_ about him that screamed _boss_.

He looked up as she entered, setting his mug down and raising his eyebrows appreciatively. "Had I known there were so many beautiful women in the future, I would have come a lot sooner."

Pepper plastered her usual _I'm not amused by you but I'm still polite_ smile on her face. "Mister Stark, so _wonderful_ to meet you at last."

He nodded, his smile tight. "Right, right. No one in Tony's life likes me. Not at first anyway." He leaned back, letting his hand rest on the counter top. "I'm trying to do right by him, you know."

"You came to see Steve," she said, clasping her hands in front of her. "Bit off more than you could chew?"

"You could say that."

"Where is everyone else?"

"Coffee?" He asked, standing and taking his mug to the coffee machine. He didn't wait for an answer, just pulled another mug from the cabinet. "You must be Pepper Potts." Glancing over his shoulder, he waited until she nodded in affirmation before turning back to the counter. "How do you take your coffee, Miss Potts?"

"Just cream, thank you."

"No frills, I respect that." Opening the fridge, he finally answered her previous question. "Natasha is hunting down the book I used to get here, Clint is at SHIELD looking through their archives for information, and Bruce, Steve, and _my son_ are out to lunch." He handed over the coffee, smiling. "I was told I should be afraid of you."

Quirking an eyebrow, Pepper took a sip, finally seating herself in the stool next to the one Howard had been on. "You absolutely should be. Tony is my best friend, Mister Stark. I've seen what your brand of parenting did to him."

"And yet, you're still reserving your judgement of me." He trapped the counter, a look of begrudging respect dancing along his face.

"I'm CEO of your company, you know." She let the statement out with an air of superiority, dangling the bait in front of him, a test to his worth.

Sitting back at the island, he turned the chips around, opening pointed toward her.

"No, thank you."

"From what I hear, Miss Potts, there is no one more formidable than you. If Tony trusts you, then I do as well."

She tilted her head, surprised. "I have to admit, Mister Stark, I wasn't expecting that from you."

"They call it growth," he answered, standing and rolling the bag of chips closed. "Are you hungry?" He pulled the refrigerator open, peering inside. "There's plenty of leftovers."

"You've made yourself at home, I see." Planting her feet on the ground, she left her seat, coming to stand beside Howard. "I am," she answered, pulling open the drawer with the menus that was next to him, "but let's order in."

"I've tried so many different foods here. I don't think my palate will ever be satisfied with the crap the 60's call cuisine any longer."

"That bad?"

He laughed. "Everything is served in gelatin." At her disgusted face, he shrugged. "I can get good meals out, some high quality French shit, but my servants have fallen into the trends a bit too much. Even Jarvis." Glancing up at the ceiling and then back at her, he grinned.

"Ah, so you know about JARVIS as well? The artificial intelligence, that is." She fanned the menus out, running her finger over them before plucking one blindly. "Indian. Good, I could use some spice."

"My son," Howard shook his head in disbelief and pride, "is incredible."

"I'm glad you can at least know that now."

"I do. I'm sorry about what I eventually do to him, Miss Potts, believe me. I hate myself for it more than any of you could." To hide his embarrassment at the admission (and he wasn't doing a good job given that she noticed), he buried his face behind the menu.

"I recommend the _Murg Makhani_ ," she said instead, recognizing how uncomfortable he was. She would get nowhere with him if he closed up. In that, Tony was a carbon copy of Howard. At least she had experience.

"I'm a fan of _Tandoori Chicken_ , but I like to branch out."

Snorting, she plucked the menu from his hand. "You had me thinking you've never had Indian."

"I said I was sick of gelatin covered everything," he responded with a teasing smirk, "not that there was no good food in the 60's. Though, I spend so much time in Great Britain that if I ever have to eat another poor attempt at curry again it would be too soon."

"We're not in the UK." Her eyes trailed down the menu. " _Dal Makhani?"_

"Sounds delightful, and another favorite."

"I'll order extra _naan_ as well. Tony likes to snack on it." Folding the menu back up, she gathered it with the others and placed them back into the drawer. "JARVIS, please place an order at Kiran Palace for everything we mentioned, including _Tikka Masala_ , and four orders of _naan._ Put it on my card."

"Of course, Miss Potts, would you like anything else?" The voice spoke.

"Yes, please order two servings of _Sandesh_ and _Modak._ And three orders of _Payasam_. It's a favorite of Bruce's." She answered Howard's unspoken question.

Nodding, Howard asked, "Curry? Really?"

Snapping the drawer shut, she gave him a pointed look. "This will ruin all other curry for you, trust me."

"I don't know if that's much of a challenge, but I'll take your word for it." He paused. "That's a lot of food."

"The leftovers will be appreciated. Got all that, Jarvis?"

"Yes, Miss Potts. Will that be all?"

Rolling her eyes, she muttered something that suspiciously sounded like _damn it, Tony._ "Yes, that will be all."

"I'll have security bring it up."

"Thank you, JARVIS." Turning to look at Howard, she jerked her head in the direction of the living room. "Let's talk."

"After you."

She sent him an appraising glance and walked first into the living room, sitting in the middle of the couch. As a female CEO of such a large company, she had to learn little ways of commanding respect and drawing attention to herself as a leader and not someone to trifle with. This was one of the ways she did that.

Howard raised his eyebrows but said nothing, instead choosing to sit on the armchair. "Ask away."

"You assume I have questions, Mister Stark."

"Am I wrong?"

With a tilt of her head, she smirked. He was a bastard who abused her best friend, but he was still a force. There would be no Stark Industries without him building it, and she had to respect him for that if nothing else. He knew how to get straight to business; with Howard Stark, there was no pussyfooting around.

"You're not. Mostly, I want to know your intentions. You _say_ you want to do right by him, but what exactly does that entail?" She crossed her legs at the ankles, leaning forward to convey poise and authority, her hands resting in her lap.

"Miss Potts, can I be candid?"

"By all means." She gestured with her hand for him to do so and fought back a triumphant grin at how he seemed afraid of her.

"Steve," he faltered, swallowing, "Steve gave me hell a few nights ago. Rightly so. I'm aware of how much Tony means to those around him, and I'm happy that despite what my future self does, he has that. But I assure you, I have no desire to hurt him. Not here. Not now. And I have every intention of doing whatever it takes to change how I raise him."

"There are ramifications for that, I know you're aware."

"Yes. But it's worth it. You know it. That's why you haven't jumped down my throat yet. Tell me I'm wrong." His voice was challenging, and she was taken aback momentarily by the passion he spoke with; however, he was right.

She had been filled in, albeit in drips and drabs, but she knew the Avengers were working on having his memories erased. Which she understood. Of course. On a logical level it made perfect sense to send a time traveler back with no recollection of what had happened, but on an emotional one, not so much. This was Tony's chance to have a good childhood. To have a supportive and loving father. Who knew what positives could come from this?

Pepper knew that it might mean she would never meet Tony, but she loved him enough to take that chance.

"It's a risk I would be willing to take." Before he could answer, she continued, "But not one the Avengers will. They have final say."

"Shouldn't Tony get final say?"

As much as Pepper wanted to hate him, this Howard had redeemed himself with those words. "Yes, I believe you're right. The decision is Tony's, I'll stand by that. By him." They would be angry with her, but at the end of the day whether or not Howard returned with his memory intact or not was not up to them. "Tony is the smartest man I know, Mister Stark. He'll make the right decision."

\---

"Pep! Love of my life! Jelly to my peanut butter! Crackers to my cheese! Milk to my Lucky Charms! Conditioner to my shamp-"

"-Can someone shut him up?"

"-Poo! Clint, fuck off!"

Laughing, Clint crumbled up the wrapper to the burrito he was eating and flung it toward Tony. "The only fucking going on around here is between Steve and-Ooof!"

Steve looked impressed. "Solid hit, Nat. Awe inspiring, really."

"I think he's actually tearing up." She bent over and looked up into Clint's face; he was doubled over clutching his stomach.

"That was a low blow," he squeezed out between clenched teeth. "Deserved. But low." Bruce squeezed his shoulder in sympathy before casting a nervous glance in Howard's direction and retreating from the room. Clint didn't blame him. Regardless of the steps Howard had taken to prove himself, the Hulk still didn't understand. All he knew was that this guy had hurt _his_ Tin Man.

Tony turned from his hug of Pepper, arm still around her shoulders. "No, low would have been in the giblets." He looked over at Howard, chuckling at how hard he was laughing.

"I'm glad my pain is amusing to you, Stark." Still hunched over, Clint sat heavily on the couch. "I think you ruptured my spleen."

"Which Stark?" Tony sassed, shooting a feisty glare at Clint.

"I think," Howard said, wiping his eyes, "your spleen is a bit higher than that."

Clint was unamused. "Rule number sixty-nine, don't talk about Cap's sex life, got it." Nat smacked his arm, and he grinned sheepishly. She was right to stop him, although maybe not so violently. He was so used to cracking jokes about Steve and Tony that it had come out without him even thinking about it. They were the couple that gave him hope for love, of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't poke fun at the low hanging fruit.

"You're so juvenile." Tony teased, patting his back. "I love it."

Which _obviously_ meant Clint had to bring out his Borat voice, much to the consternation of everyone else in the room. "High five!" Except for Tony, of course, who immediately slapped palms with him.

Pepper groaned and tugged Tony down onto the couch, taking a moment to cup his face with one hand, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "Are you okay?"

The mood sobered, Clint finding himself embarrassed at causing such a scene. "We're taking care of him."

Natasha smacked Clint's back, pointing in his face as a warning, before leaving the room. "I'll call you later, Pepper, have to head downtown."

Pepper smiled at her and turned back to Tony, tapping under his chin.

"I'm fine, Pep."

She studied his face, scrunching her own. "No, you're not. But you will be." She nodded once, satisfied with what she was seeing, and Clint couldn't help but scoot back just a little. He would never admit it out loud, but sometimes Pepper scared him more than Natasha. "I had a talk with Howard, and I will back whatever play _you_ decide to make." There was a pointed glance at Steve, and again Clint found himself slowly moving away. He didn't know how Pepper always knew when someone did _anything_ to Tony to upset him, but she always found out. She was a lioness protecting her cub - even if Tony vehemently denied being her cub.

"Thanks, Pep." Tony made a face that Clint was sure mirrored his own. _Something_ had happened between her and Howard. He had walked in just as they were finishing lunch and aside from offering him the rest of the _Tikka Masala,_ had given nothing away. Tony, Steve, and Bruce had come back not long after.

"Of course, Tony." She kissed his cheek and stood. "I'll call you tomorrow morning. I have to go down to the office. Unless you want to come with." It was an invitation to talk, and she had left the ball in Tony's court to make the decision if he wanted to talk privately or not.

"Yeah, let me just change, spilled some beer on my shirt and don't need the rumors starting."

She nodded to him and turned to Clint. "Agent Barton, a word, if you please." She gestured to the hallway and though confused, he followed her. She stopped outside his door, and he let her in, hastily swiping stray arrows from the love seat just inside the door.

Sitting, Pepper spoke calmly, but with an authoritative edge in her voice he knew to mean that he better pay attention or else. "Steve is blinded by his love for Tony, and Bruce can't be anywhere near Howard for too long or he'll force me to have this place remodeled. Again. And Thor is not on earth. That leaves you and Natasha, Agent Barton, to be objective and watch out for Tony."

"Why does she get to be Natasha but you call me Agent Barton?"

"That's what you took from that?" Pinching the bridge of her nose, Pepper sighed. "I count Natasha as one of my closest friends, but I hardly know you. Get a manicure with us, and maybe I'll call you by your first name."

Lifting his hand, he studied his nails and scrunched his nose. "That's fair." He dropped his arm and put on his best business face. "I promise you that Natasha and I are looking out for Tony and we're only doing what we think is in his best interests."

"Wrong answer. Do only what he wants," she snapped. "All of you need to remember that he's an adult. This entire situation is out of his control and if he doesn't get back some semblance of that, he's going to lose it. Understood?"

"Miss Potts, I swear to you, no one is trying to hurt him." Sitting next to her, he upturned his palms and shrugged. "None of us can figure out the right thing to do. This isn't an alien or a monster. We're trying our best. But-" he held up one finger, cutting her off before she could interrupt, "-I swear to you that nobody wants to see Tony hurt. Howard included."

She deflated. "I know. And I trust you all enough to understand that you would never hurt him on purpose." She took his hand, a sense of urgency in her grasp. "Agent Barton, he's been through so much already. And he's always come out of it, but that can't happen every time. I _need_ you-" she squeezed his hand at the word _need_ \- "to be the one who can keep your emotions away enough to be objective. One wrong step, and _we_ could lose Tony. Do you understand that?"

"He's not that fragile, Miss Potts." Clint was a little indignant on Tony's behalf. "He's survived this long for a reason. He's strong."

" _I know_. But even the strongest break at some point. Just promise me you'll be the voice of reason." Done, she released his hand and stood.

"Why me? I'm not sure I've ever been the voice of reason. Circus freak, remember?" She was already headed toward the door, and he jumped up, blocking her. "I'm not saying I won't, but come on, let's be serious here. None of us are very good at remaining objective. I'm just being honest."

"I know, and that's why I know you'll do as I ask." She reached around him and opened the door. "You also have the unique happenstance of knowing exactly what it's like to not have control of a situation."

He felt his body grow cold at the reminder. "I'll let Natasha know."

"She already does. Who do you _think_ has been keeping me informed?" With that, she left, calling out to Tony to follow her down to the business floors. Clint was left to force his memories back down his throat, back into the locked box he kept them in. Pepper Potts knew what she was doing. There was no way he'd let Tony feel even a modicum of what he had with Loki.

_Crafty little minx,_ he thought, _this is exactly why I'm afraid of you._

\---

As soon as Pepper had led Clint from the room, Tony had stretched out on the couch, taking up her warm spot.

"Shouldn't you be changing your shirt?" Steve lightly chastised, sitting by Tony's head.

Tony looked up at him and smiled, wanting so badly to adjust so he could use Steve's thighs as his pillow. "I will. Still digesting. I think I ate too much."

"Go," Steve nudged him, "Pepper will kick your butt if you make her wait."

Groaning, Tony rolled off the couch and onto his feet. "I like my butt too much to risk that." Turning to Howard, he asked, "Pep didn't scare you too much, did she?"

"Not at all." But he was nodding his head yes, and Tony laughed.

"She's a spitfire, but a good heart. If you're alive, it means she likes you. All right," he moved to the door, "let me get changed. Don't kill each other." He pointed back and forth between the two of them. "I really don't want to clean up all the blood."

As he was turning to leave, Howard jumped up. "Wait! Tony!" Pausing with his hand on the doorframe, Tony looked expectantly at him. "Uh, do you want to- I mean, since we never got to do those father and son things-" he floundered, blush creeping up his neck, "-do you want to go to the zoo or something?"

"The zoo?"

"I mean, it doesn't have to be the zoo, you're not a kid but I figured you'd maybe want to do something you never got to and-"

Steve cut him off. "Howard, you can't be seen in public. That's just asking for trouble, and _you're_ not going to be the one dealing with the fallout."

Tony tensed but said nothing. Steve was right, after all. "You can come down to the workshop. Not right now, because I'm going to talk to Pep, but maybe tomorrow?"

Embarrassed, but trying to hide it, Howard nodded. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"Okay, so, I'm gonna-" he pointed to the hallway.

"Right. I'll, uh, just hang out with Steve." Howard gave a hopeful smile toward Steve, and Tony inwardly winced.

Steve's eyes darkened. "I've got work to do." With a meaningful glance at Tony, he turned on his heels and left.

"He'll come around," Tony said softly, and followed Steve down the hallway, leaving Howard alone in the living room.

"I just wanted to make sure you're handling this," Pepper handed him a water bottle, taking her seat behind the desk.

Tony flopped into the chair, twisting the bottle in his hands. "I'm fine, Pep. You know I'm a big boy now? I wipe my own ass and everything."

"Don't be crude. We're all worried about you."

Letting his head fall back, Tony audibly sighed. "Truth?"

"That would be nice." From one of the drawers in her desk, she picked up a bag of Hershey's Kisses and slid them across the wooden surface. Chocolate always helped to placate Tony, and he shook his head in amused resignation before shoving his hand in the bag and plucking out a handful. She knew him too well.

"I was angry at first, upset and all over the place," he began, popping a Kiss into his mouth, "but then Howard started showing pride in me, especially after I told him who I was. And it just, I don't know, Pepper, it felt good."

"And...?" She gently prompted.

"And it confused me. Because I'm supposed to hate him, not have some Oprah worthy reunion with him!" Huffing, Tony sat back in the chair, rubbing at his temples. "And Steve is just...ugh!"

Pushing the chocolate closer to remind Tony that it was there, she said, "That bad huh?"

He grabbed another few pieces, unwrapping them with just his left fingers. He was adept at it. Kisses were his weakness, and she knew it. "It's not, I mean-" He shoved three in his mouth at once and spoke around them. "-When it's just us with no mention of Howard, it's fine. We have amazing sex, we can have intellectual conversations, and we crack each other up. But since dear old dad dropped in, I don't know, Pep. He keeps talking for me. Acting for me."

"What do you mean?"

"Like before I can respond to something, _he's_ doing it. And _constantly_ talking like I'm not there. It's infuriating. But I know he's doing it because he loves me." Tony paused, taking a swig of water. "He's not trying to piss me off; he's trying to protect me."

She unwrapped a piece of chocolate for herself, popping it into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully before answering. "But it's still making you angry."

"Yeah. It is. I know he means well, but I feel like he's making things worse."

"Have you talked to him about it?" She asked gently.

Playing with one of the wrappers, Tony nodded. "He says it's just who he is."

"Oh please," Pepper scoffed, "that's no excuse!"

"It is though, Pep. I'm the same way. Hypothetically speaking, had it been his father and not mine, I might've done the same thing."

She waved her hand, dismissing the thought. "Hypotheticals aside, it's not okay for him to do that to you. Tony, I like Steve, but that sounds controlling to me."

"He's not, Pep, I swear," Tony defended. "He's really good at letting me be who I am with barely any complaints. It's _this_ particular situation that had him all...bajiggity."

She blinked. "Is that...It's that even a word?"

He looked exhausted, falling back against the back of the chair and sighing. "Google it."

"I'll take your word for it. Tony-" standing, she came around the desk to crouch beside the chair and take his hand, "-what are you going to do about it?"

"I love him, Pepper."

"I know you do. But this is obviously upsetting you." She tried to catch his eyes, but he looked away.

"What can I do to help?"

"You're doing it, Pep." Tony gave her a grateful smile. "It's just something I have to work out. This whole thing with my dad isn't helping."

"I'm sure it isn't." She stepped back as he stood.

"Come to dinner tonight?"

"I'll be there." Tightly, she hugged him. "You'll be okay, Tony. You and your father _and_ you and Steve."

"Thank you, Pepper. Really." He kissed her cheek. "And thanks for the chocolate."

She grinned. "If the rest of the world figures out about your sweet tooth, you're screwed. You know that, right?"

At the door, he laughed, grateful for her. "At least I'll have lots of chocolate!"

That night, while getting ready for bed, Tony wrapped his arms around Steve's waist and pressed his face into his shoulder. "I love you," he whispered, "but I need you to let me make the call on this."

He felt Steve's lips press against his head. "I'll try."

"Thank you. I know this has been crazy, I know everything is fucked up right now, but if there's going to be a mistake, let me be the one to make it."

Steve's arms tightened around him. "I'm petrified he's going to hurt you."

"He might. But Steve-" Tony looked up at him, his face pleading. "-He also might not. I'd rather have a chance than none at all."

Pressing his forehead against Tony's, Steve shut his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick. "Tony, I'm sorry. I can't just let him hurt you again. Whatever the chance may be." He opened his eyes and licked his lips, bringing his hands up to cup Tony's face. "Can you accept that?"

"I don't know. I guess we'll have to see." Laying his head on Steve's chest, Tony swallowed. "There's something else." He pulled back to look at Steve head on. "I want to tell Howard about us."

"Tony-" Steve's eyes went wide. "-I don't think that's such a good idea."

"And why not? We're sneaking around, almost getting caught. I can't touch you outside of our rooms, and it sucks, Steve! It really fucking sucks!"

Steve stepped forward, gathering Tony into his arms. "I know it does. We have to hide in the public; we shouldn't have to hide here as well."

"So, you agree?" Tony looked hopeful.

Steve took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. "Not entirely. Tony-" He stepped back, pressing his hands to the back of his head. "-Howard is from a different time. Like me. And how long did it take you to convince me _and I was already in love with you_."

"I mean to be fair, Howard's got twenty years on you." Steve turned away and Tony threw his head back, groaning; it was a bad time for a joke. "I know, Steve. But he's going to find out. Wouldn't it be better that he finds out from me?"

"I mean, I guess. But Tony, what happens if he flips out?"

Tony was quiet, weighing his words. "Then he flips out. But at least we had some sort of control over how he found out. Because he will, Steve. You know it. I know it. Delaying the inevitable is no way to live life day after day." He surged forward, grasping Steve's hands. "Haven't we been through enough? Don't we deserve to take the wheel? If it's an explosion, babe, let it be a controlled one."

Looking away and sliding his jaw back and forth, Steve nodded, conceding. "Okay. Do you want me to go with you?"

Tony jolted. _Right now?_ Was he ready at that second? No. He wasn't. Then again, when would he be? He was about to come out to his father, something he couldn't even do in his teens when he first realized his sexuality went both ways.

Shaking his head, Tony looked at Steve, his eyes large and begging. "No. You both are too much at odds. It won't help. I'll-" He took a deep breath, preparing. "-I'll go by myself."

"Are you sure?"

"No," Tony laughed hollowly, "but it's better if I go alone." Tony turned to go, ready to face Howard, but Steve's fingers gently circled his wrist.

"Come here first." Tugging Tony, Steve swept him up in his arms and kissed him breathless. "No matter what happens, I love you."

Tony's eyes were suspiciously moist. He blinked several times and held back a sniffle. "I love you too."

"I'm keeping the door open." Steve let him go, setting Tony back on his feet. "Just in case."

"Probably smart." Stepping back, Tony held into Steve's hand until he was too far and their fingers slipped apart. He grinned, bolstering himself and Steve. "Wish me luck." Steve just smiled back, his hand slowly coming to rest at his side.

Tony walked slow, tip-toeing past his team mates’ doors, hoping he wasn't about to wake everyone up with a screaming match. It was what he had feared when he was sixteen, the exact reason he never said a word. Howard's face twisted in fury, the yelling, the belittling, the belt.

He liked to say there wasn't much he was afraid of, but _that_ Howard still woke him up at night. Gasping and crying, hunched over, trying to make himself smaller. Harder to hit. It made him shake with fear and acutely aware of the silver scar that lined the top of his shoulder and fell to his shoulder blade. A permanent reminder of one particularly bad night.

He was trembling by the time he reached the guest room door.

_That_ monster existed inside _this_ Howard. Tony didn't know how far down, but he knew it was there. The pride, the love, and the kindness Howard had shown thus far could be erased with only a few words. It could hurt more than he ever thought it would. He had envisioned this moment countless times over the years, and it never ended happily. Sometimes it was Howard screaming, and sometimes it was Tony, finally getting the last word in.

Not once did his mind let him have the happy family ending he craved so deeply.

He took a moment before he knocked to steel his nerves, breathing deeply and counting his exhales.

He raised his fist and rapped three times on the door. Howard answered immediately.

"Tony! What brings you to this neck of the woods?" He was smiling, beaming at Tony and his unexpected visit. In Tony's mind, he took a picture. He wanted to remember what could possibly be the last time that smile would ever be directed toward him.

"Howard-" Tony faltered, "-I mean, uh, dad?" Unconsciously, he stepped back, out of arm's reach. "I need to tell you something."

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you all think Howard will react? 
> 
> Also, you can find me on Tumblr: xRiaRose


	6. Riptide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Tony confesses to Howard, things come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long this took to get up. On June 23rd, I went back to work and I haven't had much spare time to write. Please accept my humblest apologies!

Stepping back from the door, Howard gestured for Tony to enter. He felt a warmth flush up his face at being called _dad_ ; it tickled him pink, honestly. A friend of his had told him - some years ago - that the first time your child calls you _dad_ it's like the entire world shifts. He didn't believe it, but standing there as Tony entered the guest room, something swelled up inside of Howard.

He had only just met him, had only just found out he even had a kid. There was no watching him grow from an infant to toddler, to boy to teen to adult. Tony had come to him already complete, in the barest form of the word. But still, being called dad - and not _Howard_ \- gave him a sense that something _wonderful_ had just happened.

Tony stood by the dresser, fiddling with the wire to the lamp placed on top. He was worried, that much was clear, but Howard couldn't imagine anything Tony could say would be all that bad. He may think differently in ten years ( _may_ being the operative word there -- he wasn't budging on remembering) but not at that moment.

"Everything okay, Tony?"

"You should probably sit down."

Howard shrugged, still grinning at being called _dad,_ and sat on the bed, bouncing slightly. He motioned to the spot next to him but Tony shook his head.

"No, I need to stand." Letting the cord go, Tony ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. "I tried to tell you this when I was sixteen," he began, unable to look Howard in the eyes, "but I was too afraid of what you might do."

Swallowing, Howard tried to neutralize his expression. It was a weak point of his, the ever so helpful internet calling it _Resting Bitch Face_. This was obviously important to Tony. That he had been such a monster Tony was this petrified to say it even now wasn't lost on him either. "You don't have to." Howard paused briefly. "If it's making you this uncomfortable-"

"-You're going to find out anyway." Turning, so he was leaning against the dresser, Tony crossed his arms defensively. "It doesn't matter if it makes me- It just doesn't matter. I need to tell you."

Howard felt the worry climbing up his throat. "Are you sick? Is it that thing in your chest?"

"No! Nothing like that." His hands went back to his hair, and Howard realized that it was a tic of his, something he did when he was feeling insecure and nervous. It was something Howard tended to do as well, something he had managed to pass down, despite being a bastard.

Keeping his voice as gentle as he could, Howard asked, "What is it, Tony?"

Looking down, Tony rocked onto the outside of his feet. The action so childish he sent a spark of protectiveness through Howard. "I'm in a relationship."

Confused, Howard moved to stand, unfolding his legs and pushing off the bed. "That sounds like a good thing. But I'm pretty sure that's changed several times since you were sixteen."

"It has." As Howard stepped toward him, Tony moved away, circling around the room until he was near the door. _He's trying to stay near an exit, to stay away from me._ The idea that regardless of how better they behaved towards each other now, Tony's memories of his childhood disrupted whatever sense of security he had was disconcerting at best.

He had thought they made progress, had thought they were moving past Tony's fears. Whatever Tony had to tell him was serious enough to bring all of that back to the surface like boiled rice in a pot. Howard's chest tightened in anxiety. "Whatever it is, Tony, you can tell me." He tried to sound calm and steady, everything his own father never was.

Tony looked stricken. With eyes wide and pleading, the soulful brown shining with anxiety. At this point in time, they were near the same age, but like this, Tony looked so much younger than he actually was. Howard found himself wondering what Tony was like in his twenties. If what he read on the internet was real - and he was sure it was - he was never going to find out. Not in this life, and certainly not in the one he was going back to. He'd be dead by then.

"I'm in a relationship," Tony repeated. "An amazing one. It's stable and loving, the kind I can grow old with."

"That sounds like wonderful news?" Perplexed, Howard tried to move closer again, but Tony stepped back until he was standing in the doorway, the frame casting a shadow across half of his face. "Tony?"

"I love him."

"What?"

"And he loves me." He lifted his chin, excluding pride, even if he was afraid. Howard realized with a jolt _just how brave he was_. But what Tony had said hadn't yet sunk in. Howard was far too unnerved by the defensive movements his son was making. "I'm bisexual. Do you know what that means?" Another step backwards. Tony's eyes darted around, unable to look his father head on, the courage dulled at the edges.

The words were starting to catch up with Howard. "Him?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he worked through the conversation like a particularly complicated puzzle.

"I like both. I'm gay. A poofter, whatever you called in back in the sixties." Tony's feet moved, stepping backwards and into the kitchen. He was proud, but he was still retreating. Howard remained frozen, unable to act or breathe. Tony was gay?

"That's not all." A flash of panic streaked across his face, Tony's throat making a choked sound as he fought down his emotions. As Howard watched, Tony's fingers gripped the counter on the kitchen island, knuckles turning white. He staggered and leaned his weight against the counter, turning into it and flattening both palms along the smooth surface. His head dropped, and a hitch of breath cut through the silence. He was waiting for Howard to acknowledge what he said.

"What else could there be?" Howard regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but there was nothing to say to make it better; he couldn't unsay them. Stepping fully into the kitchen, he attempted to close the distance between them, but Tony's tensing form stopped him.

"It's Steve."

Howard felt the blood rush from his face. That explained a whole fucking lot. "Steve?"

"I'm with Steve. We're in love. He makes me happy." Tony began to step forward, foot raised and hand reaching out, and _fuck it all_ , Howard was confused, hurt, maybe a little angry? He didn't know. But he stumbled back, hitting the door frame.

"Dad?" It was so pitiful sounding, so lost. "I'm sorry, but this is who I am."

"I need to process this, Tony." Howard was sure his own eyes were just as wide. The inside of his throat all the way down to his stomach was twisted, mixed up. _His son was gay. And in a relationship with_ _ **Steve**_.

Shadows shifting from down the hallway caught Howard's eyes, and he watched as Steve's broad form stalked out of Tony's room. It struck a fear into him that seized his muscles.

_Tony's room!_ Howard's mouth dropped. _The other night!_ He had walked in on Steve and... _and Tony!_

"That was your ass?!"

"Just shut up, Howard," Steve snapped, bullying his way in between them. Not like it was hard, Tony had kept the Grand Canyon between himself and Howard.

"I didn't- Were you always a queer?" He asked Steve. Again, it was the wrong thing to say. It was like he couldn't keep his word vomit from spewing out all over the place. "Fuck, I'm sorry I- But were you?" Nothing was making sense. How did he not know? How had this happened?

"In today's terms, I'm bisexual." Steve's voice was cold. "That's different than gay but still queer." Before Howard could speak again, Steve turned his back on him and gathered Tony into his arms, kissing him softly. "Come on, angel, let's go to bed."

"Steve," Howard tried to find his voice, "Tony?"

Tony was shaking, and Howard felt a pang at that. Two sides of him - one determined to love and accept Tony as is and the other filled with stalwart propriety - warred within him. He tried to call out again, to stop them as Steve led Tony back down the hallway. He couldn't. He couldn't move, couldn't find his voice. He stood rooted to his spot, watching as they entered Tony's suite, until the door closed, leaving Howard in darkness.

\---

Tony was trembling.

Steve felt it as he shifted Tony in his arms, pulling his head down to his chest. "Angel?" he prompted, kissing Tony's head. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

Tony shook his head, face hidden in the folds of Steve's shirt. "I don't know what I expected." His fingers dug into the material, gripping hard to anchor himself.

It wasn't the moment to say _I told you so_ , that much was abundantly clear. It would do no good, regardless. Tony had been right. Howard had to be told, it was the best way to take control of the situation. _Though_ , Steve thought darkly, _it could have been much worse._

He heard a sharp intake of breath and hugged Tony tighter, bringing his hand up to cup the back of his head. "Tell me what I can do?"

"Just hold me, please?"

"I can do that." Carefully, Steve backed up toward the bedroom, gently maneuvering Tony along with him until he could pull Tony onto the bed. Steve lay on his back with Tony on his chest, legs tangled together. Tugging the comforter over them to keep Tony warm, Steve asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, please."

It was the _please_ that cemented it. Steve had made quite a few missteps in the last several days, but one thing he understood was that when Tony said _please_ he meant it. Forcing Tony to talk about what had just happened wasn't going to help him. It was too much, too soon. Tony had come a long way from his lonely days prior to the Chitauri attack, but he was still healing. Decades of abuse at the hands of people he should have been able to trust had dimmed his ability to speak freely about his emotions. They had been thrown back into his face all too often.

Adjusting slightly so he could burrito them under the blankets, Steve kissed Tony's head and remained quiet. He could hear the sniffling and feel the hitched breaths on his collar. Tony was crying and Steve couldn't blame him, but pointing it out was a sure fire way to get Tony to clam up entirely.

They were working on it.

An hour later, Tony was asleep and Steve finally allowed himself to close his own eyes. His dreams were fitful, filled with shadows and of Tony, too far to reach, tumbling over the edge of something he couldn't see.

In the morning, he was still supine. Tony had moved through the night but stayed curled up against Steve, more on him than off. His sleep was jumbled and spastic, and Steve found himself gently cajoling him back into dreams every hour or so. Under the surface, he was fuming. The one thing he had asked of Howard was to not hurt Tony and that's exactly what he did.

Grasping around the edge of the bed, he found his cellphone and sent out a quick text: _Tony came out to Howard about us. It didn't go well. Taking a few days. Do with Howard what you want. I don't care._

Tossing his phone back into the nightstand, he turned his body, moving to his side to gather Tony up into his arms more securely. He didn't want to just sequester them away in Tony's suite for several days, it seemed unfair to make Tony stay in one place when the man was so filled with energy. He couldn't even go to his workshop without passing by where Howard may be and staying down there exclusively wasn't fair either.

He spent the next half hour going through places they could escape to. Vacations to tropical isles that Tony could book on a moment's notice, road trips to cities Steve knew Tony adored, and fancy hotels mere blocks from the tower that would afford Tony at least some semblance of freedom from what had transpired. In the end, he decided to pack them up and run away to Malibu. It was far enough away that Tony could lick his wounds in private and familiar enough that he could feel like he could be himself.

With that in mind, Steve carefully untangled himself from Tony, and it was a testament to Tony's exhaustion that he barely stirred at all. He made quick work of packing a bag for Tony and managed to sneak down the hallway to gather things for himself. It was selfish, but his plan was to take the Quinjet. They'd stay long enough for Tony to get his head on straight and return. Howard couldn't keep them from their home. With any luck, Natasha, Clint, or even Bruce - and he was almost hoping for the Hulk to break out and show just how protective _he_ could be - would smack some sense into Howard.

_Change of plans,_ he texted again, _I'm taking Tony to Malibu. Make sure Howard is nowhere near at noon. Using the Quinjet._

He hadn't even bothered reading the responses when he sent it, but scrolling back up after he hit send spread a sincere smile across his face. They were all pissed and rightfully indignant on Tony's and his behalf.

_I could shoot an arrow through his balls?_

_He's dead. I swear to you, I'll castrate him myself._

_I know of a chemical that's untraceable. I'm just saying._

It was sweet, in a twisted, messed up way, but Steve swiftly put a stop to it. _No Howard means no Tony. Just keep working on how to get him back and how to erase his memory. The sooner he's gone, the sooner we can all move on._

The only response he got was from Natasha. It was a picture of the three of them crammed into Bruce's lab, all flipping off a hologram of Howard.

He really loved them.

It didn't take much to convince Tony to leave the tower, and he wasn't sure how they did it but when they left at noon, Howard was nowhere to be seen.

He could feel Tony loosen up the further they flew from the city.

Finally, he had done something right.

\---

Midgard had quickly become one of Thor's favorite places simply because it housed some of his favorite companions. He spent as much time there as he could because his fellow Avengers, mortal as they were, didn't have a millennia to live. He had a finite amount of time to enjoy their company and friendship, and he didn't intend to waste a single second.

With that being said, he was not expecting to walk into the common living room to witness an irate Black Widow swinging a large knife and screaming in Russian at a man that resembled Stark.

Thor tried not to make it a habit to lie, even to himself, which meant openly admitting that the only mortal to scare him was the tiny, fierce redhead. And maybe Pepper Potts.

Best to stay away from Midgardian redheads as a whole, then.

The man had his back against the glass doors to the landing pad and was hastily feeling around for the door handle, while Barton did his best to keep Romanoff from disemboweling him. Banner was nowhere to be seen, and that was probably for the best because Thor _really_ didn't feel like subduing the Hulk.

That didn't sound fun at all.

There was no sign of the Captain or Stark, and Thor, laden with gifts for his comrades, was struck silent for half a second before dropping his parcels and lunging forward to help Barton.

Romanoff squawked as he hoisted her over his shoulder, the knife coming dangerously close to his ear. "Peace, Natasha! What is the meaning of this?"

"Thor Odinson, you put me down this instant!"

"Not until you tell me why it is that you are trying to slay this man!"

He felt her hand grip his hair. "I'll cut it! I swear!"

"You will not cut my hair, little sister. Who then will allow you to play with theirs and use those quaint little bows?" He felt her go still and, trusting she would calm, gently placed her back onto her feet. "Now, tell me what this is about?"

"That man-" she spat out, pointing the knife at him, "-is a homophobic piece of...of.. дерьмо!"

Thor raised his eyebrows, glancing over toward the fearful figure at the doors. "And how is it that you have come to know this?"

Barton answered for her. "He's a time traveling experiment gone wrong. _That_ is Howard Stark, who sent himself to the future and made Tony trust him and started building a relationship with him." He looked close to letting his fellow assassin go to town, Thor noted the edge he heard just underneath his voice. "Tony came out to him about him and Steve and he-- he--!" His anger too much, Barton gestured wildly, letting his frustration show the rest of the story.

Thor had seen enough. "You are my friend's father?" he said dangerously. At Howard's nod, he continued, "And you have a problem with whom he has fallen in love with?"

"It's not--" Clasping his hands in front of him, Howard looked down. "It's not like that."

"Then tell me," Thor responded slowly, "what is it like?" Howard Stark was retreating, backtracking under the gaze of the large warrior in front of him. There was no way - unless they had told him - that he knew precisely who Thor was and exactly what he was capable of doing. In that respect, Thor's size was an advantage. Even if he were mortal, he'd be formidable and daunting.

"It surprised me! I mean: my son? And Cap-Captain America? They're gay?"

Tilting his head, Thor addressed his next question to Barton. "Where are Rogers and Stark?"

"Malibu. Steve thought it better to get away for a few days."

Thor hummed in agreement. "In which case, we have time to convince this Stark to change his - how do you say? Your colloquialisms confuse me - Ah yes, to change the tune of the song he is singing. Barton," he put his hand on the archer's shoulder, "take Romanoff somewhere so the two of you can quell your tempers. Return the day after tomorrow. I will handle Howard Stark."

"What do you mean _'handle Howard Stark?'"_ the scared voice of the elder Stark spoke up.

Thor studied him, taking in the similarities between his appearance and his friend's. That was where the likeness between them ended at first glance. Save for a love of science, Thor could sense that any other resemblance was superficial at best. Sense of humor? Most likely. Masks? Definitely. But everything Thor knew of the man was unsavory. Despite the outward personality and showmanship he'd seen in the clips of Howard on YouTube that were eerily close to his son's, Thor was aware of the contrasts between them. Their hearts, for one.

His comrade was full of love and giving, determined to better the world. Damaged, yet still kind. Broken and weary at points, but always ready to fight for the world. He was resilient. Strong. Stubborn in his love of technology and hellbent on advancing modern society and creating an easier way of living for everyone in the world.

But his upbringing stood out like a stain of Thor's favorite cloak; regardless of the beauty of the material, it was an oily mark anyone could see. Like the cloak, it was still useful and still his favorite; he continued to wear it no matter how obvious it was, because things - like life - never stay perfect. There was a grace in those imperfections. He may hate the way Tony was raised, but it made him who he was and that was a person whom Thor loved.

Of course, nothing had been outright said about Tony's childhood, but he could tell. His brother _was_ Loki. And his father, Odin. He had witnessed first-hand the damage a parent could inflict, whether intentional or not.

"You and I, Howard Stark, are going to have a conversation." Lifting Mjolnir, he pointed it at Tony's father, dipping his head forward and raising his eyebrows in a way that clearly said, _you will ask no questions, and do as I say._ It always worked on Asgard and almost anywhere else he used it. But this was Howard Stark. And Howard Stark had no idea who he was.

"I'd rather not."

"I was not giving you an option, Stark." Two large strides across the room, and he was in the front of the smaller man, towering over him. "Where are your quarters?"

The movement was enough to knock some of the wind from Howard's sails. He meagerly pointed, "Kitchen. I mean, the room off the kitchen."

"Excellent. Come. We have much to discuss."

Howard looked apprehensive, but he pushed away from the doors, gesturing for Thor to lead the way. Tilting his head knowingly, Thor started through the kitchen, only turning back to assure himself that Howard was following. The man was fearful, that much was clear. He walked a good distance away and kept Thor in his sights for the entirety.

Another similarity then. His Stark, too, did not trust easily.

Thor made himself comfortable on the bed after they entered, sitting with his back against the wall and legs out in front of him, hoping his body language displayed a friendliness that would put Howard at ease. He would get nowhere with him on the defensive.

Howard took the armchair across the room, sitting stiffly. "I don't think we've been properly introduced."

Smiling at the obvious false bravado Howard was emitting, Thor placed Mjolnir beside him and responded, "I am Thor, son of Odin, from Asgard." He watched with amusement as those words settled over Howard's understanding like a sudden rain, his face going from guarded to open with confusion and a little bit of wonder. "I am also one of the Avengers, and proud to be so. I count them all as family, including Tony. So, it should not be a shock that I am disheartened and angered to hear that you disapprove of his leanings and his relationship."

"It's not that I- What I mean to say is-" Howard huffed, inpatient with his own answers. "Can I be frank? Without you, ah- you know," he motioned to Mjolnir. "Natasha told me about you and I've, uh, I've seen videos of exactly what it is that you can do with that thing."

"You are correct to be afraid," Thor said, a small and self-satisfied smile playing at his lips, "but if I were to use Mjolnir to its full capacity, I would most likely - as Tony likes to say - fry his beautiful building's central circuits. You are safe. For now." He left the threat hanging. It was good to keep Howard afraid, even if just a small amount.

"Right. Well." Visibly swallowing, Howard looked down. "I know what I do to Tony. I'm not proud of what I become."

"So you've come here not yet knowing of his existence?" It was difficult to piece together what had happened. He would have preferred to sit down with Romanoff and Barton first to gather information, but it was far more imperative to separate everyone. Particularly Romanoff; her temper was in full form, and it was best for everyone involved if she cooled down.

Howard nodded, finally looking up at Thor. "I wanted to find Steve."

"And you did. You also found Tony."

"Yes, and I won't go into all the sordid details, but I found out exactly how I raised Tony, and trust me-" leaning forward, Howard's voice took on a tone of insistence, "-I _have_ been trying to make up for it. Despite Steve stonewalling me at every opportunity."

Raising an eyebrow, Thor crossed his ankles. "Is that so?"

Deflating, Howard sighed. "Not entirely without reason, I suppose. He has every right to be angry with me."

"But?"

"But every effort I make, he's there telling Tony I will never change."

A few more pieces fell into place. "And Natasha and Clint?"

Howard shrugged with one shoulder, his face screwing into a frown. He was disappointed, upset, and it was gathering under his facade. "They were supportive, I think. At least Natasha was. Clint was friendly, but I could tell he was on the fence. Until last night that is."

Sensing that Howard was becoming more emotional, Thor steered the conversation into a different direction for the moment. "What year are you from?"

"1961."

More pieces. The picture was becoming clearer. "You are a different man than Tony knows then? Closer to the one Steve was acquainted with?"

"I think so. But Steve hates me."

"I do not pretend to know what it is that goes on in the minds of my mortal friends. I am but a fallible being myself, if my own troubles can demonstrate anything. But I know their hearts as I know a brother's." He paused, allowing his words to reach Howard. "I do not believe Steve hates you, as you've said. But perhaps he fears you. Fears what you become and what you will do to his beloved. Tell me, Howard Stark, at this moment do you wish to harm your child?"

Eyes wide, Howard answered with no hesitation. "Absolutely not."

"Good. Now tell me what transpired last night."

It took a moment for Howard to gather his words, Thor could see him struggling. He looked away, studying the door frame and Thor could easily imagine he was looking into the hours past. "He told me," he gasped out, "about him and-and Steve. About how they are gay. And in love. But he used another word, he said-"

"-Bisexual. It confused me at first as well. We do not have such titles on Asgard. There, you love who you love. Here it means a preference for the male or female gender. There are many such terms for different attractions or even the lack thereof." Leaning forward, he placed his hands on his lap. "How did you react?"

"Surprised? I never thought- that is...I didn't know- I mean to say-"

Thor cut him off. "Are you angry that your son and your friend lie together?"

Howard was quiet, contemplating. His eyes fell to the floor, and his silence stretched for almost a full minute. At length, he looked up, staring into Thor's eyes. "No. I feel like I should be, but… No."

"That is what I wanted to hear. The rest we can work on." Standing, Thor offered Howard his hand. "Come, I am hungry and hate to speak of such matters on an empty stomach! I have brought mead from Asgard, and candied fruit! And I would like to order several pizzas." Howard took his hand and allowed himself to be led back into the living room. "Tell me, Howard Stark, do you enjoy pineapple on pizza?"

-

Tony slept late, and Steve refused to disturb him. He had slid out of bed and tip-toed to the kitchen, the fresh morning light dancing across his skin. After a quick breakfast, he plucked his sketchpad and pencils from his overnight bag and moved to the terrace, where he spent the next few hours attempting to replicate the horizon with number two lead.

At a quarter past noon, he put the coffee on and returned to the bedroom. Tony was lying on his side, curled up in the blankets, his soft breaths the only sounds in the room. Steve had to tug the comforter down a bit to find his face - still peaceful in sleep - to lightly kiss. Waking Tony could be dangerous, but Steve knew his best bet was a light press of the lips along Tony's. It didn't hurt that he scrunched his face up so damn cutely when he did that as well.

Tony could never stay annoyed when he was kissed. It was Steve's secret weapon, though he mostly used it to rouse him from sleep.

"Time's'it?" Tony moved slowly, snuggling deeper into the blankets.

"Just after 12:30, love. Coffee is brewing, you hungry?"

Tony shook his head, his eyes still not open. "No, just caffeine."

"Ya gotta eat something, doll."

"Later," Tony promised, "not right now." His eyes opened, looking up at Steve pleadingly. "I can't think about food right now."

Steve's heart ached. "Okay, Tony, but you have to promise to eat later." Tony nodded. "Anything you want to do today?"

"No, not particularly."

"Why don't you go flying? It's been a while," Steve tried, tempting Tony with the one thing that almost always put a smile on his face. It didn't. His brows furrowed, looking up at Steve with a darkness behind his eyes that twisted inside of Steve.

"I just want to sleep a little longer."

It wasn't healthy, and Steve knew he should really get Tony up and doing something productive, but he couldn't bring himself to force it. Instead, he bent down to kiss his forehead and smiled sadly. "I'll bring up some food in a little bit. Rest, angel."

"Steve?" Tony spoke as Steve was turning to leave the room, "I love you."

Swallowing, Steve arranged his features into something he hoped was a positive expression. "I love you too, Tones. Get some sleep."

In the kitchen an hour later, he stood with the refrigerator door open for far longer than his usual frugal mindset would allow. It was a battle within him. Something nutritious that he knew Tony sorely needed versed something Tony might actually eat. His hand hovered over a bag of spring greens to make a salad before grabbing a carton of strawberries and a container of Greek yogurt. A smoothie. It was healthy, and Tony would absolutely drink it.

Despite it being easy to assemble, he took his time, adding milk, protein powder, and a handful of spinach for the nutritional benefits. To satisfy his need to actually see Tony chew something, Steve used the ridiculously small frying pan to cook up an egg and a slice of ham and pulverized an avocado with a little too much gusto than was strictly necessary.

A smoothie and avocado toast. It would be enough to get at least half of both into Tony.

And if Steve ignored the grumbling of his own stomach, who was going to know?

Tony's eyes, dark as they were, had never been quite so dim. In the diminishing light of the evening as he struggled to sit up in bed and take the tray of food, his eyes flickered up to meet Steve's. Vantablack. That's what Steve saw. Black holes that swallowed the light. Rimmed with a pale shade of red from the tears he’d forced back and packaged with bags below them. Large eyes, round and doll-like, beautiful in their unusual shape, with his long lashes and impish gleam. Their fans could write poems about them and often did. Steve wondered what their admirers would say if they could see Tony's eyes at that moment.

Even with all the trouble in Tony's life, Steve had never seen him look so sad.

Stomach gurgling in a plea for food, Steve pushed aside his own discomfort and gestured to the toast, "Take a bite?" He could see Tony was fighting with his own body's needs versus his want to curl up and pretend he didn't exist. "Just one?"

"Did you eat?" Tony's voice was raspy and exhausted. He prodded the egg yolk with a fork.

"Yeah," Steve lied easily, upset with himself for doing it as soon as the words left his mouth, "had a few pieces of toast before I came up here. Some of the smoothie too."

Tony didn't question it. He gingerly picked up the toast and took a bite, but his face turned sour, and he swallowed dryly before taking a large gulp from the bottle of water Steve had also brought up with him. "Nothing tastes right." He pushed away the tray. "Maybe later."

Steve felt his heart drop. "Okay, angel. Can you take a few swallows of the smoothie at least? Put something in your stomach?"

Cradling the tall glass in his hand, Tony dutifully took a few gulps, but each one looked forced. He glanced up at Steve to see if he approved of the amount, and Steve begrudgingly nodded, taking the cup from his hands.

"Later?" Steve asked, hopeful as he set the glass back onto the tray.

"Later," Tony promised. Lying back down, he tugged the covers up. "Stay with me?"

Steve placed the tray on the dresser and crawled onto the bed, sliding his legs under the blankets and pulling Tony close. "JARVIS, get the blinds?"

"Of course, Captain."

The last Steve saw was the steadying darkness growing around both of them before he slipped into sleep, his arms protectively around Tony's body.

-

Bruce was sick of surprises. He was sick of _rolling with the punches._ He was completely, fully, irreversibly done with it all. Which led to him the end-cap at the Kirby's Market and Delicatessen torn between the cinnamon tea and the hibiscus. On one hand, the cinnamon tea was a comforting favorite. He knew he would like it. It was delicious and the type of warmth he craved. On the other hand, he had never tried hibiscus tea before, and it could _become_ a favorite.

Or he could hate it.

He could move out of his comfort zone, or he could stay within.

He could talk with Howard, or he could not.

There were a few things that Bruce knew for certain. One, he was angry - which never boded well for him. Two, he cared for Tony and the rest of the team more than he ever thought he would allow himself to. And three, he was sick and tired of being passive about the entire situation. Tony was his best friend, even if Tony also had Rhodey and Pepper, and Bruce knew with a deep understanding _finally_ that he was one of Tony's.

It made Bruce all the more loyal. All the more protective.

And all the more dangerous considering the temper of the Other Guy.

But Howard freaking Stark, man, he wanted to let loose on him. Did it really matter if who Tony was in love with was the same gender as long as he was happy? Bruce didn't think so. But then again, he wasn't from the sixties.

Nope. Not going there. It didn't matter what era someone was from, what was wrong then was wrong in this century, and what's wrong was thinking that happiness and true love had to be with someone of the opposite gender. That was, in Bruce's humble opinion, just stupid and honestly cut down on people’s choices.

Hands hovering over the cinnamon, Bruce grunted, annoyed, and dropped his arms to his side.

Howard didn't know. How could he? He was a product of his time. Maybe, _maybe_ Bruce could talk to him, get him to understand that these days It was okay.

Or maybe he could reread his favorite novel, listen to some Parvati, and sip some cinnamon tea.

Like usual.

With a groan, he grabbed the box of hibiscus tea from the shelf and headed to the counter.

Steve and Tony had gone mostly dark, not answering text messages or calls. It bothered Bruce, but he understood the need to vanish probably more than anyone else they knew. He could give them a few days, and if he still heard nothing, he'd ask JARVIS to contact them. First, he had to talk to Howard. It was long overdue, and although that had his anxiety on edge, Bruce metaphorically squared his shoulders as he put away the groceries in his little apartment. He would make some tea and invite Howard over. With any luck, he wouldn't have to call Pepper to get the construction workers back up to the Avengers floors. Again.

"JARVIS," he spoke, setting the kettle on the stove, "where is Howard?"

"He is currently conversing with Thor in the living room, Doctor Banner. They have ordered pizza."

"Oh!" Bruce perked up, "Thor's here?"

"He arrived while you were shopping," JARVIS answered, his steady voice always a comfort to Bruce.

"In that case, see if Thor would like some tea as well. And ask if all the pizzas have pineapple on it, because if they do, I have a Hot Pocket with my name on it."

There was a pause, and Bruce was sure JARVIS was speaking with Thor. He set out the tea cups while he waited. Tony (and Steve just by being with Tony and getting used to it) preferred the whole spread. Trays, fancy little dishes, and that quaint China set he’d inherited from his mother. Bruce couldn't care less. He wanted his tea as quickly as possible, and _forget the fuss._ On his small kitchen table, he dropped a carton of half-and-half, three spoons, and a Ziploc bag of sugar. It wasn't as refined, but it would taste just as good.

"Thor would like you to know that you would love pineapple on pizza if you just tried it, and he and Howard are on their way to you."

"I'll pass on that," he laughed, pulling plates from the cupboard. He set them on the table just as Thor knocked at his door. With a grin firmly in place, determined to keep this as light as he could, he swung open the door and pointed right in Thor's face. "You disgust me."

"And you are stubborn, friend Banner!" Bruce barely had a second to prepare before he was pulled up into a tight hug. "It is good to see you!"

Face a little squished, Bruce hugged back as much as he could. "You too." Feet back on the floor, he turned to the table and gestured to the other seats. "Good thing you hugged me now, after you eat that garbage, you're not coming anywhere near me."

As he turned back to sit in one of the chairs, he saw that although Thor was already halfway into the room and placing Mjolnir on one of the end tables next to his couch, Howard still stood in the doorway, looking uncertain.

He decided to take a page from Tony's book: blunt honesty. "Am I taking a risk talking to you?" It was a rhetorical question, and he continued on before Howard could answer. "Yes, I am. But Tony is my best friend, and I have a duty to protect him. Watch what you say, and maybe we can all get through this without a big green incident." He glanced over at Thor, who was busy pouring a gross amount of sugar into a teacup.

"I really do not feel like having to take Hulk down." The bag of sugar landed back on the table with a plop. "Though I could use a fun romp in a secure facility."

"Please don't ever say 'romp' again." Looking back to Howard, he beckoned him in. "Let's just promise to talk as adults."

"Can I preface this," Howard started slowly, "by saying that I realized I'm not angry that Tony is dating Steve? It just took me for a loop?"

"Which is fine - and frankly good to hear - but you still need to take a seat." Bruce motioned to the empty chair again. "We still need to talk about your reaction and how you can fix this."

Howard took one step, and then another, his unease palpable. Bruce figured he only came to his apartment at the request of Thor, who no one could easily say no to (at least Bruce couldn't). "If you think it can be fixed," Howard spoke to the wall beyond Bruce's head, his back stiff with his fear.

"It can. And I'm happy to hear that you're not actually a homophobic jerk. You're not, right?" He fixed Howard's with a heady stare, locking eyes with him as he sat. If he let a flash a green shoot across his pupils, well, there was nothing wrong with a bit of healthy fear.

"I'm… adjusting," Howard answered, and Bruce was pleased to hear a note of honesty in his voice. "Where I come from, it's unacceptable. But if I've learned anything from my days here, it's that the future holds one thing we didn't think possible in my time."

"And what's that?"

Howard reached for the kettle, a look of contemplation on his face. "More acceptance."

"We've got a long way to go." In a peace offering, Bruce handed Howard the creamer.

"Perhaps, but you're miles from where 1961 is. Seeing how ferocious you all were about protecting them I-" he paused, his hand hovering over a spoon. "I realized that my ideals are outdated in these times, and as a scientist, it's my job to adapt with new developments, not harbor old ones. I wouldn't be a very good engineer if I didn’t."

Thor tilted his head, an approving look across his face. "That is very astute."

"I don't think it ever really bothered me. I just-" he shrugged, looking a bit sheepish, "I think I was too busy with propriety. With what was expected of men."

"If you'll excuse my language, fuck propriety. Now-" Bruce turned to Thor, "-when is the pizza coming and for the love of all things good in the world, tell me at least one doesn't have pineapple on it."

Thor laughed. He threw his head back, and thunder rumbled beyond the windows. "Only one has that delicious fruit on it. I promise." The teacup looked absurdly small in his hands as he sipped from it. "I agree about the social norms you speak of. There are certain things in which they are necessary, but the dictation of whom somebody can love is not one of them."

"I want to make it up to Tony. And to Steve." Howard looked down at his cup. "Mostly Tony." His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened, they were fierce and determined. "He's my son, and I failed him. Time and time again. Past, present, and future. At least for me, since I've yet to live out what I will do to Tony. If there's one thing this misadventure can bring, it'll hopefully be a little peace to his life."

Bruce nodded, confidence in the situation growing within him. Perhaps he wasn't too late in speaking with Howard; perhaps it had happened at just the right time. "That, right there, is what I wanted to hear." In his mind, the Other Guy tilted his head, intrigued. _He love Tin Man? Want to protect him?_

Bruce answered silently. _Yes, I believe he does._

-

The rolling mountains of the Catskills always had a calming effect on Natasha. Unlike the Rockies or the Alps or any of the other more famous and larger ranges, the Catskills offered a quiet magnitude. They were a little shy in their height, but the graceful waves of their slopes and the little towns that nestled in between them spoke of a gorgeous silence, a peaceful waltz that dipped and grew, shrunk and leaped. Within the wooded lands of this forgotten part of New York lay half-collapsed barns, train tracks and bridges no longer in use, and shimmery creeks. Far back, deep into the pines at the foot of Hunter Mountain, rested one of her favorite safe houses.

She called it _Mirnoye Mesto,_ which translated from Russian to Restful Place. Only Clint knew of it, though she had often considered the idea of letting the other Avengers know. It seemed fitting for them to have somewhere to go that no one else knew about, where they could escape the confines of their now very public lives.

Sitting on the porch with her feet up on the railing, Natasha dropped her head to the side to look at Clint. "He doesn't need his fingernails, right?"

Clint didn't even look up from his book. "You are not removing Howard's fingernails."

"What about his left foot? That’s kinda useless, right? It's not like you use your left foot to drive."

"Walking might become an issue."

She was contemplative. "Okay, true." Popping her index finger up into the air, she mused, "Point, but - and hear me out here - what if we just removed his big toes?"

"He'll grow used to not having them."

"Toenails?"

"Natasha…"

"Cartilage in his knees?"

"Nat…"

"His nose! Cut off his nose to spite his face!"

Dropping the book to the wicker table next to him, Clint gave her his full attention by leaning forward, steepling his fingers, and laying on the sarcasm. "Oh yes, Natasha, go right ahead and maim the man who one day has to convince a woman to fuck him so Tony can be born."

She shot him a glare, lifting one foot from the balcony and kicking it in his direction. "Dick. Someone could fall in love with a noseless twat-"

"Voldemort-?"

"-And still have enough sex to create Tony. He is a billionaire, do looks really matter?"

Hiding a laugh behind his hand, Clint leaned back in his chair. "How about we just send him back?"

She looked far too disappointed. "That's boring."

"Where are we on that anyway?" he asked but continued on before she could answer, "I spoke with Hill yesterday, and she knows something is up but granted me access to the archives. Next week, of course."

"We should be talking to Thor, but we were _banished,"_ she huffed, dropping her feet and crossing her arms.

He threw his head back and laughed, deftly dodging a punch. "We were not banished, Nat. Thor is just working his magic. In fact-" he scooted his chair out of swinging reach, "-maybe we didn't really hear Howard out. Thor seemed to think he was redeemable, and-" he put his hands up to placate her, "-prior to the other night, you did too."

She grumbled, several words in Russian rolling off her tongue. With a hard kick to the railing that had Clint wincing, she sighed. It was true. He _was_ redeemable as he was at that moment: Howard Stark from 1961, who had yet to fall into whatever awful abyss he would tumble into that would make him hurt his child. This Howard - so much closer to the one Steve had known - was affable, funny, and caring. Instead of lashing out at or just ignoring Tony, he attempted to forge a relationship between the two, taking on a fatherly role he wasn't exactly ready for. He dove in head first and regardless of his missteps, continued to try.

If anything, fear was a good motivator, and he was beyond fearful of her after she had confronted him about his reaction to Tony and Steve's relationship. He could always _learn_ to accept them.

Steve and Tony had a love she could only hope to one day attain herself, but it wasn't perfect. The road to hell, as the saying went, was paved with good intentions. Steve fought with Howard, and Howard fought with Steve. That was the divot on the road, a giant pothole that continuously derailed any attempts that the two of them made to step in the right direction regarding their issues with each other. It was possible that Steve had overreacted. It was possible that Tony had expected the worst - and really, why wouldn't he? - and had interpreted Howard's reaction incorrectly.

It was also possible that Howard was just another bigot, blind to what love actually was.

Or he was from an era that demanded such a mindset, and it could be changed.

Natasha really needed to learn that threatening civilians never led to anything productive.

"Fuck."

Chuckling, Clint looked over at her. "Vodka tonic for your thoughts?"

"I think - No! - I _know_ that maybe, _maybe_ we all were a little _too_ over protective of Tony. Not just Steve." She brought the point home by majestically stomping her foot.

Raising his eyebrows, impressed with her and at the same time amused, he nodded. "Aha! The light finally clicks on!"

"Shut up, Barton!" Groaning, she heaved herself from the chair. "All this thinking has made me hungry."

He stood, stretching and cracking his back with a well timed twist of his waist. "I'll cook. You wanna call Bruce? See if he can talk to Thor and get the 411?"

"The 411?"

"Shut up."

She flipped her hair and stuck out one hip, like Cher in _Clueless,_ because equating Clint's horrendous tries at being culturally relevant to the 90's - which was the last time he _maybe_ was - had always been more fun than telling him to give it up. "As if! You're, like, so cool."

He frowned, looking hurt, although she was fully aware he really wasn't. Clint was nothing if not a little self-aware. And there was no way he could be friends with her without being able to take a good jab at his ego. "I want a divorce!"

Physically turning him to face the doorway and pushing him in, she shot back, "I had to have been dumb enough to marry you in the first place for that to work."

"That's mean." He turned enough to point in her face. "You're mean!"

"And you're annoying. Go!"

Dropping his weight on her hands, he laughed as she grunted and shoved him forward. He stumbled, still chuckling, and moved to the kitchen. "What do you want? Soup? Stew? Chicken?"

"Whatever." She pulled her phone out and plopped into the couch. "It all sounds good. Do what's easy." His head popped out of the kitchen, one finger raised and an impish look on his face. She threw a hand up to stop him before the words could leave his mouth. "You'll want to think long and hard about what you're about to say."

He snorted, "Long and hard!"

"Damn it."

Over his shoulder as he returned to the kitchen, Clint shot back, "You walked right into that one!"

She ignored him and hit Bruce's name in her contacts. When he didn't answer, she sent him a text and tried Thor instead. "JARVIS," she spoke into her phone, "Can you connect me with Thor?"

"Of course, Agent Romanoff, he is in his quarters. I will connect you directly."

Throwing her feet up onto the couch, she waited to hear the jovial voice of her one friend who refused to carry a cellphone when he was on earth. Something about electrical currents - even if he handled game controllers and tablets just fine. He was so full of shit.

"Natasha!" Thor's voice came over the line, "How are you fairing, dear friend? Are you still angry?"

"Confused, mostly. Did you speak with Howard?"

"I did."

She rolled her eyes at his vagueness. "And?"

"He is understanding and open to the notion that his ideas are antiquated." Thor paused, and she could hear him shuffle around, something weighing on his mind. She waited him out, refusing to say something before he did. "I think-" he began again, "-that he is coming to his own conclusions as well. That Howard is not just saying these things but believing he needs to change and adapt. He is not the man that I thought him to be."

"I think we're all seeing that except for Steve." She sighed, and the sounds rushed through the phone. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she admitted softly, "I was too hasty to judge him, right?"

"That is the nature of being alive, my friend. Do you wish me to speak with Steve?"

She shook her head, even if she knew he couldn't see it, "No, I will. Steve and I need to have a real discussion about both of our behaviors."

"What do you mean?"

Aware that Thor had not been around and couldn't possibly know, she explained, "I went a bit off the walls pushing Tony and Howard together. I didn't stop to think about what Tony wanted, and neither did Steve. He did everything to keep them apart."

"What brought along this realisation, if I may ask?" His tone was gentle, and she felt a greater appreciation at having him as a friend and team member. Thor could be hot tempered, he could make rash decisions like the rest of them, but there was a quiet wisdom within that calmed Natasha. She loved his steady and solid presence. He was older than any of them, and it showed in times like these.

"Talking with you. With Clint. Banging my head against the fact that I was completely on his side until one slip up." Heaving another sigh, she fell back against the couch cushions, all at once exhausted. "What would you do?"

He made a sound, one of contemplation and amusement, and she smiled at it, envisioning his face with a little smirk. "I would talk with Howard, and I would talk with Steve. I would speak with Tony after. Explain my side, and ask what he wants. Then-" the lilt in his voice went up, and she heard the joke even before he spoke it, "-I would break out the best mead I had and drink with all of them!"

"You're a Viking badass, Thor."

"I am not a mortal warrior -- I do not understand this comparison."

Smiling fully for the first time in two days, Natasha responded, "Shut up, Thor."

\---

Tony woke up cold and alone. He shivered and pulled the blankets up, blindly reaching out to Steve's side of the bed, even though he already knew he wasn't there. Steve had become such a constant in his life that it was almost instinctual to reach for him.

Rolling onto his other side, Tony studied the empty half of the bed. It hadn't been used. Either Steve hadn’t slept or he’d slept elsewhere. Both ideas bothered Tony more than he could ever describe. He almost expected Steve to be in the armchair across the room or see the bathroom light on, but the chair was vacant and the door was ajar with the bathroom beyond dark.

"JARVIS?" Voice raspy with sleep and exhaustion, Tony sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist. "Where's Steve?"

"Sir, Captain Rogers is in the living room, watching a movie. It is four o'clock in the morning."

Nodding, Tony moved to the edge of the bed. He felt stale and stiff, and weariness had crept into his bones and settled in, making itself at home. When he stood, his lower back ached, and the scars around the arc reactor stretched uncomfortably. Shuffling to the bathroom, he clicked on the light and winced as the brightness assaulted his eyes.

Staring back at him from the mirror over the sink was a stranger. He felt disconnected, like he was floating above his own life. His eyes were hollow and dark, and under them, the skin was bruised and tired. He looked sick and sallow. His thumbs were stinging, and when he looked down, he saw that he had unconsciously picked at his cuticles until the skin around his nails was raw and bleeding.

Was it just the reaction of his father that had sent him into this downward spiral? No, and Tony knew that. This was everything: Howard showing up, bickering with Steve, Howard's reaction to his relationship with Steve, the stress of the entire situation building and building and building. Tony not noticing that his mental state - the one he had worked so hard to improve after Afghanistan _and_ the Chitauri - had tumbled and washed away like a beach after a hurricane.

It was years of erosion done in just a few hours. Damage that may not have been seen exasperated and brought to light by a single impetus. He was Fire Island after Hurricane Sandy had hit.

Chest feeling heavy, Tony turned to the shower and tried to step toward it, but his body felt like an immovable boulder. The thought of showering exhausted him. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't.

Instead, he relieved himself, washed his hands, and crawled back into bed.

He woke again several hours later to the sound of the radio and Steve humming along. He was folding laundry, seated in the armchair.

"Hey." Tony's voice was quiet, but he knew Steve could hear him.

Steve's head snapped up, and he smiled, but it was worn and forced. Tired and strained. Tony felt something clench inside him. This was his fault.

"Hey, yourself," Steve spoke softly, setting aside a shirt he had just folded and standing. "You hungry? Want something to drink?"

"No."

Steve's smile - as forced as it was - faltered. "You haven't eaten anything Tony," he gently chastised, "you need something in your stomach."

"Don't," Tony said, pulling the blankets higher to shield himself. "I don't want food. I don't want anything but to sleep."

"Tony-"

"Please."

"I can't let you do that." Sitting on the side of the bed, Steve reached out and brushed the hair from Tony's head. "A smoothie and a shower. That's all I ask. And then I'll leave you alone."

"Why?" He was a little ashamed to admit it, but Tony's voice came out shy and childlike. He felt bare naked and torn open. Exposed and stripped. Like the last of his defences had given up and thrown in the towel. _What's the use?_ his mind screamed, _What's left to protect?_

"Because we've been here for almost three days, and you've eaten next to nothing. Food and a shower will give you a little more energy." Steve paused, his head tilted as he worked through something in his brain. "Nat called," he finally said. "She thinks Howard was confused and didn't really mean what he said. Thor arrived. Apparently, he is adamant that Howard isn't against us."

It was a nice thought, but Tony knew Howard. He was an ogre. A monster. He screamed and yelled and hit. He drank, and he rampaged. He was a shadow cast upon Tony's entire life, and nothing he did could move his feet enough to step out from the shade. His roots were deep and stubborn, and he couldn't bloom in the darkness.

The fungus of Howard reached out and infected everything involved in Tony's life, souring even the sweetest berries.

Steve's concern, his love, and his own welfare hung in the balance, teetering on the edge of one of his branches, barely holding on. Steve had already suffered so much in his life, had already endured far too many hardships. It wasn't fair to him.

All at once, Tony knew what he needed to do.

"I want to go home. Back to the tower. I need to talk to Howard and end this once and for all." Looking up, he caught Steve's eyes, shining in the dim light of the late afternoon. "Can you get the quinjet ready?"

A weird, pained expression grew on Steve's face, starting in his eyes and cascading down to his mouth. Tony feared he knew, but this was not a conversation he wanted to have at the house. It was better to be in the air, where Steve couldn't delay their return, where there was a finite amount of time to discuss it.

"Sure, Tony. Smoothie and shower first? I'll join you." A brief flash of hope danced across Steve's handsome features.

Tony conceded. There was nothing wrong with one more time, one final goodbye. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Steve blew out a breath, ignorant to everything. And it was better that way. His smile this time was warmer, fuller. "I'll be right back with the smoothie." He leaned forward, cupping Tony's face and kissing him sweetly.

"I love you, Steve." He couldn't help it; it was the truth, after all.

"I love you too, angel." Standing, Steve bent over to kiss Tony's forehead and left the room. Tony closed his eyes to savor the moment, replaying Steve's words over and over in his mind until he thought he could bring them up on a whim, something to keep him warm for the days and weeks ahead.

As promised, when Steve returned with two tall glasses filled with the smoothie, he dutifully drank one as Steve drank the other. He let Steve take his hand and lead him to the bathroom, let him carefully strip him of his dirty clothing before taking off his own. In the shower, Steve gently cleaned Tony's body, washing his hair and kissing his skin as he rinsed him. Tony felt his resolve slipping, but he remained strong in his decision. When Steve kissed him, Tony kissed back passionately, pouring all of his love into it.

Something to keep Steve warm in the days and weeks ahead.

As Steve lifted Tony and braced him against the wall, Tony closed his eyes and savored the feeling of Steve pushing inside of him for the last time, the feeling of fullness, connection, and completion. He wrapped his arms around Steve's neck and stared into his eyes, allowing himself to drown in the depths of a blue he could never put a name to.

After this, he knew Steve would be free of the burden of Tony Stark.

The pleasure built, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open as he gasped and moaned, Steve's strong arms holding him steady as he thrust in and out, his mouth slack and his eyes growing darker with need. Tony wanted to memorize it all. He wanted this last time burned into his brain, indelible. Permanent. Like a tattoo in memoriam of what he was about to give up.

"Tony…" Voice like a whisper, like a prayer, Steve breathed heavily, "Tony, god, Tony." His head bent down to kiss up Tony's neck, sucking lightly at the skin. Tony tilted his head, his own breath coming out in puffs and small, aroused whines.

It felt so good, as it always did.

He felt Steve's motions become stilted as he neared his release, felt one of Steve's hands slink in between them to fold around Tony's length, pumping fast to bring Tony over the edge with him. "Steve!" Tony couldn't help but call out as he spilled over Steve's hand, the build up and the emotions too intense to prolong. Steve's body stilled as he came, and Tony revelled in the feeling of being filled up by him.

"God, Tony. I love you so much."

Tony remained quiet, his forehead resting on Steve's shoulder under the guise of catching his breath.

He waited until they were just a few minutes outside Manhattan before he said anything. Steve sat next to him in the cockpit, sketching idly while Tony navigated the quinjet. Occasionally, he would look up and smile, hiding what he was drawing. Tony hated to crush him, but it had to be done.

"Steve, I-" He swallowed dryly. "We need to talk."

"Whatever you need, angel." And Tony felt tears spring into his eyes. He hastily blinked them away.

"I can't- I mean, it's not fair-" He sighed and pushed through the rapid beating of his heart and the tightness in his chest. Steve looked up, worriedly. "This whole - I don't know what to call it. Situation? - Hasn't been at all fair to you. I put you in a position you never should have had to be in."

"Tony," Steve began, but Tony hushed him with a hand held up.

"Let me finish. Please." Steve nodded, and Tony continued, his voice thick with emotion. "You should never have had to choose between me and Howard. You should never have felt the need to protect me like this." Steve moved to interrupt again, and Tony barreled on, cutting off whatever he was going to say. "This has put a lot of strain on both of us. And I-" He switched gears. Better to put the entirety of the blame on himself. It was his fault anyway. "-I can't handle the complications of a relationship right now. Not with Howard here for the foreseeable future, and not until I can give you what you need."

"What are you saying, Tony? Are you breaking up with me?" His tone desperate, Steve reached out, trying to grab one of Tony's hands, but he kept them tight on the controls.

"You deserve more than this." The tower came into view, and Tony released a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"More than what? What I need?" Steve was getting frantic, half out of his seat and trying to get Tony to look at him. "I need _you,_ Tony. There's _nothing_ more than you."

"I'll gather up the stuff you have in my suite and get it to you no later than tonight." His heart breaking, Tony was unable to hold back the tears that slipped down his face.

Steve was quiet for a long moment, watching as Tony landed the quinjet and the wings folded up. He took a deep, audible breath. "Is this what you really want?"

The jet powered down, and Tony finally turned to face Steve. "Yes." Steve was openly crying, and Tony felt something inside of him crack. "I'm sorry."

It took a few garbled and shaking starts, but Steve finally said, "Okay."

Tony nodded and stood, grabbing his overnight bag and walking off the quinjet, his legs wobbly and weak. He walked right past Thor, Bruce, and Howard in the living room, ignoring their attempts to garner his attention.

All he wanted to do was go to bed and never wake up.

In his suite, he slowly gathered up Steve's things, his hands trembling the whole time. The mental exhaustion and lack of nutrition had him aching and shaking. Placing Steve's favorite sweater in a bag, he finally let himself cry, breaking down and sobbing, face covered by his hands, knees to chest, and rocking in a sad attempt to soothe himself.

Which is, of course, when the call to assemble came.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Please let me know in the comments what you think!
> 
> Russian translation: Shit


	7. It's a Bit Like Chasing Your Own Tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The assemble call and the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Musicalla and Lady Lanera for catching my typos and mistakes, WilmaKins for being the best Alpha Reader and sounding board in the world, and BleakLoft for the encouragement and love, and for the surprise that's in store for the readers of this story!
> 
> Who can catch my HIMYM reference? It's pretty blatant, LMFAO!

"Steve?"

Blinking, Steve found himself standing in the middle of the living room, staring off into space. "Huh?" He felt hollow, like he was floating, disconnected from his body.

"I - ah - just wanted to apologize." Turning his head to the left and tearing his eyes away from the hallway Tony had disappeared down, it took Steve a moment to realize it was Howard talking to him.

He shook his head, trying to clear it enough to understand what Howard was saying. "What?"

"I said--" Howard shuffled forward, looking down and back up to catch Steve's eyes, "--I'm sorry. I reacted badly, but I don't-- What I mean to say is--" He paused, taking a deep breath. "I couldn't imagine anyone better to be with my son. I know you'll protect him and love him. But if you break his heart, I will slaughter you. I know a guy." He ended with a smile and a shrug, but all Steve could see were Tony's eyes, filled with tears, ending the very relationship Howard was approving.

Steve's inhale was stuttered, and the smile slipped from Howard's face. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Tony just… He kind of ran past us, but I didn't think -- Steve! Steve, what happened?"

"He--" Steve's voice broke, "--he broke up with me."

Bruce and Thor, standing back at the bar and letting Howard have his say, surged forward, both talking at once. Across their faces was a mixture of surprise and shock, and it took Steve a moment to realize that Bruce was willingly in the presence of Howard.

"What do you mean he broke up with you?"

"I find this unfathomable!"

His chest was caving in. Steve knew it. His broken heart was reversing the serum, and he couldn't breathe. He was back to that scrawny kid from Brooklyn, and this was an asthma attack, it had to be. "He- he said-"

"Jesus, Steve, sit down." Taking his arm, Bruce tugged him over to the couch. It wasn't that Steve went willingly, although he certainly didn't fight it, but black spots were dancing across his vision, and his body moved of its own accord. "You gotta breathe, Steve." Bruce kept his voice calm, rubbing soothing circles on Steve's back. "In and out, that's it."

Eyes clamped shut, Steve concentrated on his voice, on the sensations of his hand, the warmth, the swirl of his shirt as Bruce’s palm moved in circles. His chest eased, but the ache was still there. He remembered Tony and his anxiety, how he picked at his cuticles when he was feeling particularly anxious. His own, too perfect from the serum, felt too smooth to find anything to grab at. But he needed _something,_ something to make him feel. To ground him.

He - all at once - realized exactly why Tony picked at his thumbs, how he felt during his panic attacks, and why Steve seemed to be one of the only people capable of calming him down. Because at the moment, all he wanted was Tony.

And he couldn't have him.

Drawing in a shaking breath, Steve's eyes flickered down to his thumbs again. They were still perfect. Still unscarred. He had used them countless times to pull Tony's fingers away from his own flesh, to still that incessant picking. Sometimes using gentle ministrations to clean and bandage the tips of Tony's thumbs, kissing away the pain and soothing the sting.

Tony suffered panic attacks often enough that Steve knew exactly how to help him. He knew how to ground him, how to bring him back from the traumas of his past. He could anchor Tony like no one else had ever been able.

All that practice, and he couldn't even help himself through one.

He felt a finger under his chin. _Bruce,_ he heard his mind supply. _It's Bruce._

"You're at the tower. It's late, but you're safe. We love you. You're going to be okay."

Okay? What was okay? What could possibly be okay about any of this?

He was Tony's anchor, but Tony was his ship. He guided Steve, had shown him a world after the ice, had given him a reason to continue on despite his own traumas and his own reasons to forfeit and give in. Tony helped him find a safe harbor, and he had pointed Steve in the direction of a lighthouse as it glowed with a blue that existed nowhere but in Tony's chest. A light to guide him home.

And now it was gone.

Steve felt the passage of time slowly, even if he didn't comprehend it. He could see the minute hand of the clock on the wall making its way around and around, but each tick of each second, of each minute meant nothing to him.

Time was frozen, just as he had been. Useless except for the steady reminder that the love that had given him meaning had dissolved like sea foam in the tide.

But Bruce's voice told him to breathe. So he did.

_Any harbor in the storm._

Vision clearing, he turned toward Bruce and locked his eyes with his, letting Bruce know that he was back, but he was broken.

"Okay?" Bruce asked, his hand stilling on his back for just a second before returning to the comforting circles.

Steve nodded, closing and opening his eyes to clear the fuzziness that had crept around the edges of everything he could see. He still felt wrecked, like a book with the pages torn out. You could still read the story, but it was in no order, just strewn across the floor in a haphazard mess. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Start from the beginning." Bruce's hand stilled on his back, but he didn't remove it. "Just, wherever you think you need to. Tell me what happened."

So he did.

He told them everything. From the first fight with Rhodey there and how he kept speaking for Tony and deciding for him, to how Tony was adamant they tell Howard about their relationship, to him seeing Tony's shaking figure silhouetted by the light from the guest room, to taking Tony to Malibu. Somehow it all came out. Most of it was not necessary because Bruce had known a sizable portion, but it was filling in things for Thor, and by to some extent, Howard. He told them of his anger, of how he was still angry, and how Tony descended into a mental slump that was frightening to him.

When he finished, he didn't feel any lighter. Getting the story out hadn't helped in the slightest. As his eyes focused on Howard, he felt his skin crawl. He needed someone to blame along with himself.

Because it _was_ Steve's fault, but he couldn't shoulder the blame alone. He wasn't strong enough for that, he knew it like he knew he loved Tony. The serum made his body strong, but it did nothing to prepare him for how his own stubbornness could cause things to go so wrong. Howard had caused this, maybe unintentionally, but he did. Steve just exasperated it.

He was the speeding car on an already damaged road. The ship sailing through a hurricane he already knew was coming.

It _was_ his fault.

But it was also Howard's. Because one day Howard would turn, and he would beat and belittle his own son into a damaged shadow, always hurting, constantly hiding. He would be the reason for the self-destructive behavior. The self-sabotaging actions that made up most of Tony's life.

It wasn't fair. Steve knew that.

He knew that this Howard _had_ been trying, but damn it all, he needed an outlet. Even if he knew he might regret it later. He stood and took two steps toward Howard and mustered up every drop of confidence he could. It wasn't much, but it was enough to allow him to stand up tall, roll his shoulders back, and snap at Howard.

"None of this would have happened if you hadn’t meddled with things you should never have touched."

Howard swallowed and looked down. "You're right." Steve hadn't been expecting to be agreed with. He stumbled back - all the confidence vanishing - letting his legs hit the couch, and sat, staring at Howard as he continued speaking. "But there's nothing we can do about that now. I'm here. Even if I disappeared this very second, you can't change that I came. And I'm sorry for that."

"What's your point, Howard?" Steve asked miserably. The hollow ache he was feeling was growing stronger again. Lifting his palm, he rubbed at his chest, too exhausted to continue to care about anything other than his own heartbreak. Howard's apology dripped down onto him like a man caught unaware without his umbrella. He was already wet - what were a few more droplets?

"The point," Howard sighed and sat next to him, "is that I know I made a mistake in coming here. But we can't change that now. Steve, I--" He turned, peering up into Steve's face, "--I will do whatever it takes to make this better. I keep screwing up, and even if you don't want to hear it, you have too. We're human," he shrugged, "we're not impervious to mistakes. But if I know one thing, it's that you belong with Tony. And he belongs with you."

"Lot of good that does me now," Steve mumbled miserably.

"Talk to him," Bruce spoke up softly, looking up at Thor and back to Steve. "You know Tony. Better than any of us. He doesn't want this."

"You are both hurting deeply right now," Thor added. "He made a rash decision. It can still be fixed."

"Can it?" Steve asked, looking up at him. "Because you didn't see him. You didn't see-" he trailed off, unsure of how to verbalize what he was thinking. Shifting his body so he could look at Bruce, he tried again. "Do you remember the first few months after the Chitauri invasion? How Tony would have constant flashbacks and panic attacks? How when it got really bad on some days, he would disappear into his suite and just… sleep?" Bruce nodded. "This was worse. He barely left the bed, refused to eat, he was just so… hollow."

"And you?" Bruce prodded, setting his hand on Steve's back again.

"I'm not important."

"Hey," Bruce lightly hit his arm, "you are! Don't ever think that!"

Steve opened his mouth to answer, to rebuff what Bruce had said, but the blaring of the Avengers alarm cut through his thoughts. He stood up fast, turning a shocked expression on Bruce and Thor. "I-"

Bruce shook his head, "Later, this conversation isn't done. Go get your shield!"

"JARVIS?" Steve yelled out over the alarm.

"Agent Hill has informed me that a creature has come up through the sewer system one block over."

Thor winced, "That is too close to home." No one commented on him calling the tower his home, there was no time, but it warmed Steve's heart, if only a little. No matter what, _this_ was his family.

"Nat and Clint!" Bruce shouted, as Steve was halfway to the door leading to the hallway.

He spun around, "Where are they?"

"I sent them to cool off their tempers." Hand out, Thor called Mjölnir to him. "I do not know where it is that they went."

JARVIS answered, his calm voice needed over the chaotic din of the alarm. "They are en route, Thor Odinson. Agent Barton has informed me they are fifteen minutes out in the borrowed quinjet from SHIELD."

Thor nodded and pointed at Steve, "Go!"

With a single nod, he turned and raced down the hallway toward his apartment, to his uniform and shield. Ready to face whatever it was, ready for a distraction.

Tony was just running from his suite as Steve reached his door. Their eyes locked. "Tony-"

Tony shook his head. His eyes, red rimmed and exhausted, still had tears falling from them. Steve wanted to reach out, draw him into his arms and kiss his tears away, just as he had done countless times before. His arms lifted, stretching toward Tony, but an explosion rocked outside, and Steve, falling back on instinct, braced Tony against the wall, protecting him. The aftershock of whatever exploded settled, and neither were worse for wear, nor did he see any damage to the hallway they were in. He hadn't really needed to protect Tony. It was just his first instinct.

"I'm okay." Looking up at him with worry and longing on his face, Tony placed his hands on Steve's chest, pushing him back just enough to slip away. "I'm fine! Get your shield!"

"Tony!" Steve grabbed his arm, but what he wanted to say died on his lips. The alarm was still blaring. Every second wasted could mean a life lost. "Get in the armor. If you need to sit this one out, do it, do you understand me? We'll be all right. Just stay in the armor. I can't… I don't want anything to happen to you!"

"Not gonna happen, Cap. I'll see you down there." And he was gone, legs moving quickly into the living room and to the landing pad. Steve watched him go before entering his apartment. "Damn it!" Tony was in no shape to be fighting, but the stubborn brat wasn't going to listen to reason. If there was a threat, Tony would meet it head on, regardless of his mental state. His ridiculous courage, _damn,_ it was something Steve both loved and hated about him.

But he still wouldn't change it. Tony was always unashamedly Tony, and Steve adored that about him.

The creature was literally a sewer dragon. A fire breathing, nasty smelling sewer dragon. Ridden by a burly man with a dirty beard and beady black eyes in a long coat and a top hat. Steve had to rub his own eyes to make sure he was seeing what he actually thought he saw.

Above him, the quinjet with Natasha and Clint hovered, and through his com, Clint cackled, "He looks like my eighth grade science teacher. Probably smells like him too."

"Hawkeye," Steve warned, but a brilliant flash of red and gold streaked through the sky, pulling his attention from not only Clint but also the creature and its rider. With a start, Steve realized that this was the first time since before Howard came that Tony flew the suit. The injustice of their situation weighed heavily on Steve's shoulders. It wasn't right. Flying made Tony happy, and he hadn't been able to do it.

It was just one more regret Steve had.

He was knocked out of his thoughts - quite literally - by the dragon's tail, swiping sideways and taking Steve's feet from under him. He landed hard on his side and, in one fluid movement, sent his shield flying. It landed with his usual accuracy and boomeranged back to him - thank heaven for small miracles! - but the nick on the side of the dragon only angered it more.

The man screeched, high pitched and loud for such a big man, and jerked the reins he had on the dragon to turn toward Steve. "How dare you injure my beast!"

"Is this guy for real?" Clint said at the same time as Tony yelled through his own com, "Cap, get out of there!" There was panic in his voice.

Steve barely had a second to react as the dragon heaved a deep breath and let loose a roaring stream of fire. He ran and jumped, launching himself off of an abandoned taxi onto an awning, just missing getting singed and swaying to regain his balance. "Iron Man! Sitrep!" Across the street, a building burned, glass from the storefronts and apartments above shattered on the streets. It had to have been the explosion he and Tony felt, and Steve prayed silently that no one was inside when it happened.

"Just him and Fido." His usual battle gusto was there, but Steve could hear the underlying current of Tony's emotions slinking behind the saucy tone.

"Are the civilians evacuated?"

Natasha answered for him, "Tony got them all out before we got here. Can we shoot him now?"

"Have at it. I'll check for stragglers. Iron Man, aerial attack, Thor, use your lightning to electrocute him. Bruce, stand by, we may not need the big guy."

Leaping from the awning and landing on the sidewalk, Steve gave the dragon a wide berth, his eyes taking in every detail he could, searching for hidden hands or feet of civilians who may have been missed. Taking off up the street toward a cafe where he saw moving shadows in the dim light, Steve heard the repulsors of the Iron Man armor charging up and firing and the steady beat of the weapons on board the quinjet blaring off. He risked a glance behind him, happy to see Tony far from the dragon's reach, hovering and firing blast after blast.

Reluctantly, he turned his back on the fight, knowing that with a dragon, the heavy artillery was a better solution to fighting it and his shield would only be able to do so much. A man and woman, huddled just inside the door to the cafe, looked up at him in desperation as he approached. "Come on!" he shouted, helping them up. "Follow me!"

A line of police officers had set up a perimeter, and at the barricades three blocks down, after Steve had found two more civilians, he hastily handed them off to the cops. As he turned back, he felt the heat of the fire before he saw it. The dragon, with his mouth open wide, was burning a line down the center of the block.

"Get them back! All of you!" he screamed over the noise, gesturing to the cops and civilians. "Go!"

The dragon surged forward, his eyes on Steve, the yellow pupils dilated in agitation. "Steve!" Tony's voice filled his ears, panic evident in the shaking tone. "Steve!" The Iron Man armor swooshed overhead, turning on a dime to get between Steve and the dragon, 25 feet in the air.

"Tony, no!" The repulsors fired twice before the dragon, still controlled by Large and Beady, swiftly spun, its tail reaching high, and knocked Tony right out of the sky. He landed hard, skidding across the pavement and bouncing over the curb before he came to a silent stop. "Tony! Iron Man! Report!" Without a single thought to himself or anyone else, Steve took off in a run. Tony was too far, more a block ahead, and the dragon was closer. "Take him out!" Steve screamed, pleading for anyone on his team to act, "Take him out! Don't let him near Tony!"

From the sky, a long, bright bolt of lightning jolted to the dragon's back feet, causing it to stumble and jump. Another hit its head, and when the massive jaws opened in pain, the quinjet fired. As the dragon fell - dead - to the street, the man on his back jumped, riding the scaly neck to the ground.

Tony was starting to move, the armor dented and wrecked by the force of the tail. Unable to stand with the armor so compromised, Tony's hand slammed against the emergency release latch and the suit cascaded open. He didn't see the man, that much was obvious, the large carcass hiding him.

"Tony!" Steve screamed again, this time in warning. He was almost there, if he could just push his legs faster, he could make it. He had to save Tony, had to!

On his knees and obviously injured, Tony's head snapped up. His arm, cradling his ribs where the tail struck, tightened in fear. Far from riding a dragon, the man - from the folds of his long coat - pulled out the next best thing: a crossbow. A fucking crossbow.

Steve watched in horror as the man lifted it, aiming for Tony's head. He could see Tony looking up, abject terror on his face when he realized exactly what type of danger he had put himself in by leaving the armor. Above, the quinjet tilted and tried to take aim. "We don't have a clear shot yet, Steve!" The body of the dragon, enormous and bulky, blocked the quinjet from the other side.

"Hurry!" That was Thor's voice. The dark sky lit up as he gathered lightning, ready to attack should Natasha and Clint be unable to fire.

Growling and striding closer to Tony, the man hissed. "You kill my dragon, I kill you!"

"No!" The voice came from nowhere, and Steve felt his heart drop. They had left him in the tower, where they thought to keep him safe, but Howard Stark wouldn't be who he was if he didn't take unnecessary risks. "Get away from my son!"

If Steve hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he never would have believed it, but Howard - who was dwarfed by the man by at least a foot and a half - lunged and grabbed the man by the middle, tackling him to the ground. The crossbow went off, the arrow flinging up and embedding itself in the side of a building.

Almost there, Steve kept running, but he was still half a block from Tony. It was all he could do to keep running. The panic welling up inside him, freezing his thought process on just Tony. Only Tony. His vision narrowed, he felt his chest tighten, his eyes on the injured and crouched figure staring up in fear, eyes wide. Exhausted. Terrified. Steve couldn't think. Couldn't act. All he could do was run, his heart beating fast in an attempt to save the one person he loved more than anything else in the world, but he couldn't act. He only run.

Kicking out, Howard's foot connected with the man's shoulder, sending him sprawling back. He almost lost his grip on the crossbow but regained his balance and swung back to aim again for Tony again. Howard, his face set in anger and determination, stood his ground, standing between Tony and the man. "You hurt my son, and I swear to God, I'll disembowel you!"

"Thor!" Steve commanded, aiming his shield, "do something!"

"The Starks are too close!" Thor called back, dismayed, "I'll kill them if I use Mjölnir!"

"We don't got a clear shot, Cap." That was Natasha, the quinjet moving through the air in an attempt to find the best vantage point in the narrow street. "Howard is in the way!"

The shield left his hand with a flick of the wrist, he had no memory of doing it after. But he remembered -- afterwards -- how it connected with the man's arm and severed it. He could only spare half a thought to his own mental state that it took that long to use it as it bounced off a lamppost and careened back into Steve's grasp. It was a bit violent, honestly, a bit too gory, but the bastard had aimed for Tony.

That was unforgivable.

Not like it showed him down much. The man let out a deep, pain filled scream, and ripped an amulet from a chain under his shirt. It glowed as soon as he held it in his palm, an eerie green that set Steve's teeth on edge. _"Tolle animam suam brachium meum: mihi quae quondam erat…"_

He had no chance to finish as Steve finally skidded to a stop in front of Howard, screaming through his com, "Thor! Now!" He shoved Howard hard in the other direction. "RUN!" he yelled, dodging around him to lift Tony into his arms. "Thor's going to fry him!"

"Oh, shit!"

In the end, Thor didn't need to electrocute him. The man heard the words and gave himself up. If only the whole battle were that easy. As Natasha and Clint crudely bandaged what was left of his arm and led him to the quinjet, Steve sat in the back of an ambulance, watching with unveiled worry as paramedics checked Tony's ribs. Howard sat at the curb, feet on the ground and knees bent, his arms hanging over them. When he looked up, Steve caught his eyes and nodded.

They had finally reached an understanding.

_"What were you thinking?"_ Steve had snapped to Howard as soon as they were a safe distance away. _"You could have been killed!"_

_"I was thinking that my son was down and injured, and_ you _were too far away!"_

_"What are you even doing here, Howard? We told you to stay at the tower!"_

Howard had shrugged, not looking abashed even in the slightest. _"You know I don't follow directions well!"_ He huffed and threw his hands in the air. _"I wanted to see you all in action, especially you and Tony."_

Steve deflated, turning to watch as the paramedics rushed over to them. _"Is he-"_ one of them said, gesturing to Tony, _"I mean, is Mr. Stark injured?"_ Steve had almost forgotten he held Tony in his arms, so used to his weight, and he blinked down in surprise. Tony stared up at him, his face a mix of complicated emotions.

_"That_ thing," Howard began, flapping his arm backward toward the body of the dragon, _"whacked my son right out of the air. Who knew dragons not only existed but we're strong enough to knock a Stark in a high tech exoskeleton around?"_

Steve's eyes slid closed. So much for secrecy. He heard Tony sighing in his arms and gingerly set him on his feet.Tony shifted on his toes and kissed Steve's cheek. _"Thank you,"_ he said softly. The paramedic was watching them weirdly, his eyes wide and confused. Tony, with his arm still wrapped around his midsection, put his hand on the paramedic's shoulder and steered him toward the ambulance. _"I just need some ice, chief. Norbert over there packed a wallop."_ Steve watched as they helped him into the back, letting him sit on the gurney instead of lie down. _"You ever work on a superhero before, kid?"_

He turned back to Howard. _"You realize the danger you put yourself in?"_

Howard nonchalantly lifted a shoulder. _"It's a good thing I was here."_

It was. Without Howard tackling the lunatic, he would have shot Tony with the crossbow point blank and instead of joking with a civilian paramedic, Tony wound be laid out on the street. Dead. Steve looked down, shifting his shield from one arm to the other. He had been so messed up in his own head that he couldn't even act. Howard had saved Tony's life. _"Thank you, Howard."_

_"Now, was that so hard?"_ Howard chuckled but clapped Steve on the back. _"I told you, I care about him. I don't know, some cosmic paternal bond or something, but I couldn't just stand by and watch him get hurt or killed."_ With that, he sunk down to his bottom, sitting on the curb and dropping his head in his hands.

_"Howard!"_ Steve exclaimed, _"Are you injured?"_

His laugh hollow, Howard looked up at Steve. _"Not at all."_ He motioned his hand to their surroundings. _"This was a bit much to take in. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing. But it's gone now. I could use a nap."_

And Steve understood. Curiosity had led Howard from the safety of the tower and into the battle, but his love as a father - even a brand new one who didn't even know he was going to have a son prior to this - was what propelled him into the thick of it to save Tony. His own well-being be damned. There were complications there as well, such as if Howard had been killed his actions would have been for naught anyway, but Steve finally understood.

_"Thank you, Howard. And I'm sorry for how I treated you."_

Howard's smile was soft and genuine. _"That means a lot, Steve. Now, go see to your other half. I'm just gonna sit here and contemplate my existence."_

Steve barked a laugh and headed to the ambulance, hopping up and sitting on the bench next to the gurney. Tony looked up at him, his expression open and hopeful and Steve found himself cautiously optimistic.

They were down, but they were not out.

\---

Waking up to the news of yet another attack on New York and Tony getting knocked around was starting to get a little old. Rhodey sighed, anxiety clutching at his stomach, and dropped his fork back onto his breakfast plate. "Damn it, Tones." As he dialed his superior's number, he rewound the DVR and watched as the tail swiped out again and again, slamming into the Iron Man armor and sending Tony tumbling back to the streets.

"I saw it," the voice on the other end of the line spoke as a greeting, "Go, there's nothing important over the next two days anyway. Though, you may want to invest in some bubble wrap."

Rhodey laughed and it felt good. "I knew what I was getting into when I signed up to be the best friend of a fourteen year old genius."

"You knew he was going to be a superhero?"

"No, I knew he was going to be trouble." He let the television play through the rest of the footage from the battle, raising his eyebrows as Thor sent the lightning into the dragon. _If ever he was to have a superpower…_

"Mine turned into a dead beat with a love of petty crime. Count your blessings, son."

"True. Could be worse," Rhodey said casually, "he could have become an evil villain instead of a mad scientist with a hero complex."

"And a pain in my ass, Rhodes."

"Bigger pain in mine, but thanks for the unscheduled time off." On the television, Rhodey watched as the Bad Guy of the Week© slid down the neck of the dying dragon and brandished a crossbow at Tony, who had stupidly exited his suit. "Jesus."

"And what's with the random civilian jumping in and calling Stark his son?"

Rhodey jolted. _What?_ "Sir," he started, but on the screen his question was answered as Howard freaking Stark tackled the bad guy.

_Get away from my son!_

Ah. Fuck.

"Let me get back to you on that one."

His superior chuckled, "I don't envy you the messes Stark creates, just the fact that your best friend is a billionaire genius. Those come in handy."

"Do they?" Rhodey huffed, head in his hands. "What am I gonna do with him?"

"I already told you, bubble wrap. And lots of it."

As the tower came into view, the War Machine's HUD flashed up that Dr. Banner was waiting for him on the landing pad. Rhodey took a deep breath and closed his eyes. That never boded well for him. He landed, and as the suit disassembled around him, Bruce jogged up.

"You know," Rhodey said as the helmet came off, "I'm a little tired of being met out here by the rest of the Avengers. My heart can't take it. Just tell me he's okay?"

Bruce tilted his head. "Tony's the one with the heart condition."

"Give it ten more years of being his best friend, you'll get one too. Is he all right?"

"Yeah, bruised but good." As the rest of the suit disappeared around him, Bruce fell into place next to Rhodey, walking toward the door. "A lot has happened since you've been here last."

"Isn't that always the case?"

"They came out to Howard." Rhodey stopped short, his heart dropping. Bruce, unaware at first that Rhodey had ceased his steps, kept going. He froze several feet from Rhodey, realizing, and turned. "Col. Rhodes?"

It felt like that one time Tony dumped a cup of ice water down his back. The chill shook him, and he had to swallow before speaking. "How did that go?"

"Howard was completely shocked. Before you put a hit on the guy, he's actually fine with it, but his reaction was stunned and didn't go over well, understandably."

"And what happened?" He remembered the first time he had met Howard. Tony was fifteen, top of the class - hell the whole college - excited and proud to show Howard what he had been working on. The entire time, Howard had looked annoyed, bored. It was an obligation to him, seeing his son in school, non-important, but quintessential to continue the facade of the loving tech family. He kept up appearances until they were behind closed doors. Until he thought they were alone. Rhodey had shifted on his feet in the bathroom, peering through the crack in the slightly ajar door. He didn't want to interrupt a private moment between Tony and his father because _surely Howard had to have been proud._

He wasn't.

The backhand had sent Tony sailing to the floor. He cried out and slammed his hand over his mouth to stop any more sounds from escaping. _"You are wasting your time on this bullshit, Anthony!"_

He was so small. Just a child, really, fifteen and skinny, shorter than almost everyone else on campus because he was _fifteen._ Large, wide brown eyes that had the girls adoring him like he was their baby brother and the guys pushing and shoving him around in jealousy of his brain and of how he looked.

The Great Tony Stark, who put on all the sass in public but behind closed doors was just a scared little nerd who only wanted to build robots. And on that night, when he should have been posturing around his newest creation with a father fit to burst with pride, he was instead cowered on the floor, whimpering. One hand covering his mouth, the other protecting his head. Waiting for the rest of the blows that always came.

Rhodey had flung himself from the bathroom, intent on attacking Howard when a sob from the floor detoured him. _"Rhodey!"_

He had dropped to his knees beside Tony, blocking him from Howard. _"Get the fuck out!"_ He was stronger than Howard, taller too, but this was Howard Stark. This was an imposing figure, a man he had seen in some regard throughout his entire life. Television, newspapers, magazines… He was larger than life. It was sheer chance that Rhodey became Tony's roommate the year before, and sometimes it bothered Rhodey immensely at how easily it could have been someone else. Someone less patient, someone greedier.

Howard had dropped his hands. _"You're not even worth it."_ And he was gone. Rhodey gathered Tony up, cleaned his face, tucked him into bed, and lay next to him, letting the trembling child cry on his chest until he fell asleep, exhausted and weary and still _only fifteen._

As the years passed them by, Tony grew, not as much in height, but he filled out. He went from a baby faced young man into an adult that turned every head as he walked by, but he still had those wide, brown eyes. Rhodey looked into them often and still saw the small little teenager who just needed a friend.

"He was stunned silent, I think," Bruce was talking, peering up at Rhodey with unveiled concern. "Tony took it as a negative response, and really, can you blame him?"

"Not at all," Rhodey sighed, thinking back to the young Tony he once knew. His insecurities had only been masked over time, but they never went away.

"He and Steve went to Malibu for a few days, smart move on Steve's part, considering-"

"-But?"

"But Tony fell into one of his funks, and that's putting it lightly. He broke up with Steve." They had reached the door, and Bruce turned, standing in front of it and blocking the way in. "Then we got a call to assemble."

"I saw the encore on the news. He _broke up with Steve!?"_

Nodding, Bruce continued, "Almost done. I'm giving you the abridged version here. Howard's willingness to sacrifice himself to save his son is what finally endeared him to Steve. All of us, really. Which would be fine and dandy if Tony hadn't locked himself in his suite as soon as we returned. So he _still_ thinks Howard hates him, despite witnessing part of Steve and Howard's conversation, because he's Tony and that's what he does, and he's _still_ broken up with Steve-"

"-And Steve? How is he?"

Bruce threw his hands in the air. "He's a mess! They had a moment? At least that's what Steve said, but then Tony shut himself away and honestly? I need a vacation after this." He took a deep breath and motioned that he was done.

"You _are_ looking a little green around the gills."

"That's not funny."

Rhodey was already moving past him, opening the door and stepping into the living room. "It's a little funny. Tony would laugh."

"Okay fine, it's marginally funny. Can you fix this?"

Stopping, Rhodey turned and patted Bruce's shoulder comfortingly. "I'm going to try."

"We're close, but no one has ever been able to reach Tony like you." Moving to the coffee table and picking up a tray, he held it out to Rhodey. "And try to get him to eat something?"

Rhodey took the tray from Bruce's hands. "Just call me the Tony Whisperer." As he walked out toward the hallway, he called back over his shoulder, "I'll do my best to get Tony back on solid ground, you keep Steve from falling apart."

"Easier said than done," was the response he heard.

Tony was in bed sleeping when Rhodey let himself into the suite, curled up on his side and hidden by the blankets. It was disturbingly quiet. Usually the dishwasher was running, the television was on, or Tony had music playing. At the very least, he and Steve -- and sometimes the others -- would be on the couch chatting away like high schoolers in the cafeteria. Open containers of takeout on the coffee table, half empty tea cups and discarded saucers, and shoes piled by the door, a hammer hanging on the hook… All signs of the family Tony had made for himself.

The apartment was pristine, as it always was. Tony's workshop was constantly a mess but his living quarters were immaculate. Despite having a cleaning crew, he still tidied up everyday. Still vacuumed himself, did his own dishes. He was a neat freak.

At first, Rhodey worried that Tony had taken his stress out on the polishing, but the apartment just hadn't been lived in since it was last professionally cleaned. There was Malibu. And there was Tony after. Deep into darkness and only concerned with his bed.

He didn't turn the lights on as he entered the bedroom like he usually would. Didn't instruct JARVIS to raise the blinds. Instead, he placed the tray on the table in the corner, the sandwich, cookies, and fruit salad able to withstand a little longer without being eaten, and gingerly crawled on the bed next to Tony. After he settled himself, facing Tony and also on his side, he lightly tapped the bridge of Tony's nose. It was something they had done for years, how they woke each other up.

Tony's eyes opened groggily. "Rhodey?"

"Hey, Tones. Heard you're having a rough time."

Tony's face crumbled, and immediately Rhodey pulled him into his arms, cupping the back of his head and rubbing his back. Letting Tony cry, giving him something solid to hold on to while he let it all out. This wasn't just the breakup or the coming out. This wasn't even about the assemble call. This was everything, built up over the last -- was it nine? Ten days? -- it didn't matter how long at this point. Tony had reached his threshold. He was done. And Rhodey was content to hold his best friend and allow him to cry it out, however long he needed.

"Oh, Tony," Rhodey lamented sadly, wrapping both arms tightly around him, "Just let it out, Tones. It's okay. I'm here now." And he wasn't leaving until Tony had both feet back on the ground.

The sound of coffee percolating had been long ago tied to Tony. Just like the gentle whooshing and beating sound of a rug being aired out reminded him of his mother, or the quiet scrapes of steel against wood was his grandfather. They could go for months without seeing each other, but every morning Rhodey would hear the sounds of the coffee machine finishing up, and he would flash to Tony, curls askew, pajama bottoms wrinkled, staring longingly at the pot. Young. Small. Full of uncapped potential and innocence and sass and brilliance.

Had Rhodey known -- back then -- everything Tony would accomplish, everything he would become, all the trauma he would have to go through to get there… Well. If he were being completely honest with himself, he would have wrapped Tony up and run away with him. He would have done anything to keep him safe. Superheroes and world advancement could find someone else.

For once, they could find someone else.

The puffs from the machine began to slow, and Rhodey pressed his thumb over the Stark Industries logo on the bottom and rubbed across it. Tony was a household name, not just because of Iron Man, but because his name was on the best appliances, the best electronics. Items for every pay scale, quality unwavering. Washers and dryers for the low income family as well as the rich, twenty dollar coffee makers for the struggling college student that would last through their senior year and into their first jobs, as well as large machines stocked in coffee houses. Phones with the best shatter resistant screens from a hundred dollars to over a thousand. Tablets and computers for bookkeeping to gaming to multimillion dollar conglomerates. Rhodey, whose face was not nearly as recognizable out of the War Machine armor than it was within, found it almost surreal when he heard people talking about Tony Stark. Either _to_ him, or overhearing snippets of conversation, hushed whispers of what they thought, good and bad. It worried him as well as elated him. When the voices spoke in reverence, in awe, he wanted to scream out, _That's my best friend! Isn't he amazing!?_ But other times, he sat quietly, writing down descriptors and passing along his notes surreptitiously to Steve or Bruce. Just in case.

He was fully aware of how overprotective he could be. But someone had to. All those years before he had Steve to share the load with, worrying and worrying, fearing a kidnapping or attack. Afraid of Tony sleeping with the wrong person, or shutting down a business deal with someone dangerous, petrified that the man he cared for like a little brother would end up hurt or worse. It was awful.

Iron Man didn't help.

But he was _happy._ He had some semblance of a family, a man he loved and wanted to grow old with, and a cause. Iron Man made his life far more dangerous, but it also gave Tony the stability he needed. It gave Tony somewhere to hang his hat. A home and not just a building.

Rhodey had already written his best man's speech. He wasn't ashamed. It was good too, just the right amount of sentiment mixed with humor and memories. Love for both Tony and Steve. They were the real deal, a romance that Hollywood would be envious of, two damaged men finding their missing pieces in each other. Finally, Tony could put all of his trauma behind him.

As the coffee dripped its last droplets into the carafe, Rhodey closed his eyes. Life had given Tony brilliance and money, good looks and courage, and in exchange had pummeled him with one upheaval after another.

A dash of creamer for himself, and black for Tony. He gently placed them on the nightstand and turned to check the food Bruce had given him for Tony. It was a little soggy but still edible, and Rhodey balanced the tray on his hip before kneeling on the bed and setting it down. He tapped Tony's nose, loathe to wake him after he had sobbed for nearly an hour, but he knew that Bruce was right. Tony needed to eat. And then he needed to get the hell out of bed.

"Rhodey, go'way."

"Not gonna happen, Tones," he tugged the blanket away from his face, "so you might as well sit up and make this easier on yourself."

"Please?"

The left side of Rhodey's mouth lifted sadly. "I'm sorry, Tone, you can give me the Bambi eyes all you want, but I'm not letting you go back to sleep." Slipping his hands under Tony's armpits, he carefully pulled him up and into a sitting position. "The Tony Stark I know doesn't just roll over and die." Tony let himself be moved, his eyes dropping down to the blankets, unable to look up at his best friend. Rhodey wasn't having that. With two fingers, he tapped under Tony's chin, gently cajoling him to lift his head. "I have coffee." It wasn't much, but it did perk him up just a bit. "But you have to try eating first."

"I knew there was a catch."

Sitting back, Rhodey twisted his body to hook his hands into the handles of the tray and brought it around, settling it on Tony's lap. "I'm only asking that you eat -- let's say -- 50 percent off this tray, cookies included." He picked up one half of the sandwich, holding it out to Tony, "Cream cheese and jelly. Your favorite abomination that I think only Italian Americans eat. You heathens."

That bubbled a laugh out of Tony, who dutifully took the sandwich. "This was my mom's favorite. She used to put it on Ritz Crackers."

"I know. And she'd want you to eat."

Tony's eyes dropped to the sandwich, eyelashes fluttering in his cheeks. "I know."

"So does Steve." It was said softly, gently, but with purpose. Understanding Tony was never easy, but sometimes he was so transparent; he would do anything to make Steve happy (including harming his own happiness, as he so perfectly demonstrated with breaking up with him), but that also extended to self-care. If Steve wanted him to eat, Tony would at least try. As far as Rhodey understood, anyway. He wasn't expecting much, maybe a few bites, but it was better than nothing, so he smiled encouragingly as Tony bit into the sandwich. "You always said Bruce got the cream cheese to jelly ratio just right."

Swallowing, Tony let his lips curve up into a small smile, "He loves these as much as I do now. You were always awful at making them. Too much jelly."

"I never saw the appeal. PB&Js are where it's at. Have some fruit," he coaxed, pushing the bowl filled with apple, pear, and orange slices closer to Tony.

Taking another bite of the sandwich, Tony picked up an apple slice with his other hand. "Your grandfather used to sprinkle salt on these," he gestured to the slice with the sandwich, "if you want to talk about nasty…"

"I'm not disputing that." Feeling bolstered, Rhodey set the coffee on the tray. Tony ate the apple slice, took a long drink of the coffee, and went back to the sandwich. Rhodey felt his heart lift, just a little, but it was something.

After Tony ate most of the sandwich and finished the fruit, he split the cookies with Rhodey, leaning his head on his shoulder as he chased the sweetness with the coffee. They were quiet, the need to fill the silences between each other gone by the end of their first semester knowing each other. Rhodey was content to act as a pillow for Tony, as he had done so often before.

Bumping his chin on Tony's head some time later, Rhodey pointed to the bathroom. "Go shower and then let's go flying. You need to _get out."_

"I don't really feel like going out, Platypus." The nickname was there, as was the intentioned cheek, but it fell flat. Rhodey moved the tray to the other side of the bed and pushed at Tony's shoulder.

"Tough. There's a cafe on Long Island that's supposed to serve pretty amazing coffee in an out there atmosphere. I've wanted to go, but only with you. You're the coffee connoisseur."

"Rhodey," Tony started, but he trailed off, sighing deeply and looking up at him. "Fine."

"Go on, Tony _Stank_. You stink. Go wash your pits."

"You suck at comforting."

"That's a lie," Rhodey swatted at him, "and you know it."

He was graced with a real smile. "I know it. Love you, Rhodey-Bear."

"Love you too, little brother. Now get your ass in the shower."

While Tony bathed, Rhodey dug through his dressers, plucking out a Slayer t-shirt and a pair of well worn jeans. They were past the point of modesty with each other, so he didn't even think twice about going through his underwear drawer as well. By the time Tony emerged from the bathroom, Rhodey had the clothes laid out on the bed and was rifling through Tony's closet for a hoodie that _wasn't_ Steve's.

"How did the water look?" he tossed over his shoulder as he finally found an MIT zip up hoodie that might have been his at some point.

"Huh?"

Walking from the closet and tossing the sweater on the bed, Rhodey leveled him with a bright grin. "Was it brown and grimy?"

"I wasn't _that_ dirty," Tony grumbled, toweling off his hair, "I showered yesterday."

"And fought a battle."

"Whatever." Dropping the towel on the bed, he picked up his boxers. "This is an invasion of privacy," he sassed, shoving one leg into the leg hole and then the other.

"Says the guy buck naked in front of me."

"You should respect my virtue." With a snap, Tony pulled the boxers up and glared at Rhodey.

Who just barked a laugh in return, not hesitating, "You haven't had virtue since you were sixteen."

Tony's face split into a grin and Rhodey was about to count it as a win when the smile slid off his face and he turned away. "I showered and I ate. Isn't that enough?" He pulled on the rest of his clothes and fiddled with the zipper to the hoodie.

Shaking his head, Rhodey pulled Tony close and wrapped his arms around him. Tony sighed and let his head fall to Rhodey's chest. "It's a start, Tones, and I'm proud of you for doing that. Just a little more, okay? And then we can come back here and binge watch Gilmore Girls."

"I do not watch Gilmore Girls," Tony mumbled into Rhodey's shirt.

Shifting Tony in his arms, Rhodey leaned down and whispered into Tony's ear, a wide smirk stretched across his face, "Team Jess."

"How dare you. Rory belongs with Logan!" Pulling back, Tony curled his upper lip in mock disgust at being so easily called out. "Fine. But I'm allowed to sing along to the theme song or so help me…"

"Then get your sneakers on, let's do some flying, get some coffee, and I'll make my mama's roast chicken for dinner while we watch." He nudged Tony away, reluctant to let him go but knowing he needed to in order to help Tony heal.

Sitting on the bed, Tony reached for his sneakers, looking up at Rhodey with a hopeful face, "Where you lead I will follow?"

"Uh huh. Come on, Lorelei."

"Right behind you, Sookie."

\---

He had to admit, flying was a good idea. Banking a hard left and switching trajectory at the last moment, Tony sailed upward, moving his arms out just enough to spin in the air. It had been almost two weeks since he had last flown. Since he had last done _anything._ There was minimal tinkering in the workshop, he hadn't attended a single Stark Industries function or meeting, and as for flying? He didn't even count the assemble call. It was three blocks away, and he was knocked out of the air fairly quickly. As soon as Howard had landed in the living room, it was like Tony's entire life had hit the pause button.

Rhodey swooped below him, pulling up and making a circle around Tony as the Iron Man armor leveled out. "ETA Three minutes!"

"Where are we parking the armor?"

"Beats me. This is your experimental shit. I still have doubts this thing is going to come off me without the landing pad."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Tony shot back, twirling through the air and purposefully getting a little too close to Rhodey.

"I'll take you with me, you flying hazard."

That earned Rhodey a real laugh, and Tony was glad to give it. He hadn't felt human in days, and this? This was nice. Rhodey knew him. Rhodey would take care of him. "If it's any consolation, I completed these suits prior to Howard deciding to jump forward several decades."

"Thank God for small miracles. Look," he pointed, "it's right there. That house on the same side as the fire department?"

JARVIS zeroed in on the building through the hub. It was indeed a house, the wooden exterior painted a slate blue and a sign -- in the quintessential _witchy_ font -- spelling out **Witches Brew** above the doorway. "That's a coffee house?"

"Opened in 1996, used to be a general store," Rhodey supplied and Tony made a face even though he knew his best friend couldn't see it. "Stop judging me," Rhodey huffed, "and don't deny it. You totally are."

"Did you write their website for them or something?"

"They don't have a website."

Tony's jaw dropped. "Don't have a- Platypus, what third world bullshit have you dragged me into?"

Chuckling, Rhodey pulled the suit up, preparing to land. "I knew I needed something quirky to get you out of the tower. I just did my research." Tony pulled up beside him, appreciating the lengths Rhodey always went to in order to help Tony. "No one can fly these other than us. Let's just take that empty spot in front of the building on the road. Two suits, one spot, and no, I'm not interested in whatever perverted pun you're about to say."

A crowd gathered as they landed. Cars slowing along Hempstead Turnpike, blatantly rubber-necking, people ambling out of shops to catch a sight of Iron Man and War Machine as the suits opened, and the patrons in the coffee house abandoning their drinks to run down the front steps for a chance to get close to both of them.

Able to step out of the suit with no problem, Rhodey looked impressed. "You were right," he relented, looking back as the armor closed up, "that is easier. Oh, I should tell you this place only takes cash."

"What year is this?!"

Any answer Rhodey had was lost as the crowd pushed toward them.

"Tony!"

"Mister Stark!"

"Iron Man!"

Sometimes, the fans really had the worst timing. It wasn't their fault, so he never begrudged them any of it. He tried as best he could to sign as many of the papers shoved in front of him and to lean into as many selfies as possible before a petite girl with blonde pigtails and a studded choker pushed through the crowd. "Are you here for coffee, Mister Stark?" she called out over the din.

Tony turned, taking in her apron and nametag. "Yes, we are. You work here?"

"General manager. Come with me, we have one of the more private couches open."

Rhodey was shaking his head, "Chopped liver."

"What's that, Rhododendron?"

"I'm chopped liver when you're around."

Grabbing Rhodey's arm, Tony tugged him down to plant a big, fat, obnoxious kiss on his cheek. "You are filet mignon to me, Rhodey-Bear!"

They were led to a yellow, Victorian style couch in a corner, a white marbled coffee table placed directly in front of it. The GM smiled at them, holding out two menus. "Liz will be your waitress, she'll be around in a few. I recommend the Cream Sodas, particularly the orange creamsicle, or for espresso drinks, my personal favorite is the Autumn or the Solstice. Enjoy!" With a grin and wink obviously aimed at Tony, she turned and left.

Rhodey snorted, hiding his lips from the rest of the establishment behind the menu. "If only she knew you take it up the butt."

"That's vulgar… but very true. Stop gloating. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Turning a page on the menu, Rhodey laughed. "If my mother knew half the things I say to you that I wouldn't dare to say around her or anyone else, she'd skin me alive."

"Everyone thinks you're such a good soldier boy, just like Steve." Tucking his legs underneath him, Tony flipped through the menu, laying it on his thigh when he reached the espresso page. "I know better. I have seen both of your 'O' faces."

"First of all-" Rhodey smacked his arm with the menu, "-you only know my 'O' face because you don't know how to knock. Secondly, that was one time, whereas I'm sure you've got Steve's etched into your memory."

It was the wrong thing to say. Tony knew Rhodey figured that out as soon as the words left his mouth, but Tony was the one who had brought Steve up. Rhodey couldn't blame himself for that. "Hey, don't worry about it." Tony looked down, unable to face what he knew was an open and honest expression across his best friend's features. "It's fine, really. Let's order."

"Tony," Rhodey began, pulling Tony's menu from his grasp and setting it aside, "He loves you. You love him. The both of you are meant for each other, and letting the crap that's going on with your dad right now interfere with that is just stupid as hell."

"Has anyone ever told you that you have _such_ a way with words?"

Rhodey studiously ignored him. He was too good at that, to be fair, and Tony was getting rusty at shocking a reaction from him. "Do you love him?"

_That_ gave Tony pause. He sat back on the couch, dropping his hands flat against his thighs and letting his chin fall to his chest. "More than anything. You know that."

"Right," Rhodey spoke firmly, dipping his own head to catch Tony's eyes, "so you know why I'm a _little_ confused as to why you've decided that dumping him is the best possible course of action."

"Jesus, Rhodey, I didn't- I mean, I wouldn't call it _dumping,_ you know?"

"Then what _would_ you call it, Anthony?"

Tony gave him a scathing look at the usage of his full first name. "I was only hurting him."

Signing, Rhodey turned back to his menu. "For a genius, you sure are stupid."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Pulling his legs out from underneath him, Tony sat forward, agitated and annoyed in the way only Rhodey could accomplish. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rhodey smiled kindly, his brown eyes soft and full of all the love he had for Tony. "Whatever you need it to, Tones."

How could Tony respond to that? Pursing his lips, he looked out over the rest of the coffee house. The other patrons were deep in their own conversations -- at least on the surface. He caught the random surreptitious glances toward him and Rhodey, the hidden eyes peeping up and then flashing down to their mugs and mason jars.

"But I also think if you don't let yourself heal, you'll never be able to let yourself be happy with Steve."

All around him, Tony watched as the eyes flickered like street lamps. He remembered other eyes, sadder eyes. Eyes of his teachers, of businessmen, the scientists he worked with from a young age. Their eyes sliding quickly to the exposed bruises on his wrists, or his black eye, or the stains of tears on his cheeks. To the ghosts he had behind his eyes.

"Healing is a myth."

"Is it? Tony, you need to let go of Howard. The one you grew up with anyway. Let him go. He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore."

Tony squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, just trying to catch his breath. When he opened them, the world was a little fuzzy, and he turned to stare out the window, blinking away the warped edges to his vision. It was draped with thick velvet curtains, a deep, rich color, and purple Christmas lights dangling along the folds. Outside, save for the sporadic slowing of a passerby, the suits stood silent and tall, like golems. Beyond, he studied the busyness of Hempstead Turnpike, the light down the road going from red to green. The lights in front of the fire station flashing yellow.

_Go. But be cautious._

The weather was turning, but it was still somewhat bright for the mid-afternoon. A light rain came from the clouds and washed the streets, sending the dirt from the prior dry days cascading down into the sewers. He could see the sidewalks fill as the elementary school up the block let out and children and parents began their walk home. He never had that. He had boarding schools and the occasional phone call from his mother. Propriety and rules instead of a parent waiting diligently by the doors to see her child. Decorum and manners, starched uniforms with crisp white shirts and ties. Blazers and pressed pants instead of recess and playgrounds and trading lunches.

Outside, a child jumped into a puddle, splashing his father, who laughed and picked him up, swinging him around before tucking him under his arm and running to the protection of an awning. Had Tony tried the same, it would have been the belt.

As the storm grew stronger, umbrellas were taken out and raincoats pulled up to protect their children from the downpour. Crossing guards pulled up their plastic hoods, hurrying parents and children across the busy intersection, laughing as they all got drenched from the sudden downpour.

Maria had done what she could, but her hands were tied. There was only so much she could do to protect Tony. It was the same with Jarvis. With Ana. No one could protect him from the angry fists or the poisonous tongue of his father.

He had been at the mercy of Howard's moods.

The unfairness of it hit Tony like a car splashing through the puddle at the corner across the street. Fast and hard, the water jetting up like a wave against a rock. He felt the realization tumble down his back, soaking him with the very thing he was vehemently against ever saying about himself.

He glanced at Rhodey and froze at the incredible love he saw reflecting in his best friend's eyes. This man who was saddled with a 14 year old child simply by luck of the drawing system of the dorms, who didn't need to befriend him, didn't have to like him at all, but instead stepped into the shoes of caregiver, protector, and big brother. He took Tony under his wing and never left his side.

If Tony were to admit anything, it would be to Rhodey. His person. His rock. The man he went to for all things good and bad. The man who showed him how to let others in -- like Steve. Without his guidance and support and unwavering love, Tony would never have felt the confidence to take that step with Steve. Nor would he have let Pepper in, or the other Avengers. Like his own Blue Fairy, it was Rhodey who all those years ago helped to turn him into a real boy.

He trusted him implicitly.

It was hard to formulate the words. Even knowing that if he could say them to anyone, it would always be his best friend. Turning to once again stare out the window, Tony watched as the rain let up. He took a deep breath and focused on the lightest part of the clouds outside, the sun pushing through stubbornly.

"I was abused."

Rhodey sat so still next to Tony that he had to turn from the window to make sure he was still there.

"I don't want to be a statistic. But there it is."

Slowly, like a bird using her wing to shield her offspring from the rain, Rhodey drew Tony in. "You're a survivor. You always have been."

"He hated me." Tony felt Rhodey as he moved closer, bringing Tony to his side and twisting his body to look into his face and block the questioning gazes of the patrons around them. He was warm. Comforting. Always protecting him. Like Maria couldn't. "I didn't do anything wrong." He looked at Rhodey. "I was a child. Right? A kid. Kids are innocent."

"You were smarter than him. Better than him. You did nothing to deserve that, Tony. You deserved the world. Still do." The waitress walked over, two drinks and two plates on a tray. Tony looked at Rhodey, puzzled. He smiled, "I ordered for us while you are figuring things out." Espresso and a brownie with ice cream. It was exactly what Tony would have chosen for himself.

"Thanks, Rhodey." It never ceased to amaze Tony how well Rhodey knew him.

"Ice cream -- like time -- heals all things."

Tony lifted his spoon and paused, turning his head to look at Rhodey. "You know me so well. How? How did you know?"

Shrugging, Rhodey sipped at his own drink. "How did I know you were abused or how did I know that you didn't know it?"

"The last one." His fingers twirled the spoon, dipping into the ice cream and slicing through the brownie, the cream of the melted treat pooling around the base of the brownie.

Rhodey took a bite of the cookie he ordered, chewing thoughtfully before he answered. "You are always so against the notion that you were, but anyone who knew you -- like _knew_ you, knew you -- could see that you were an abuse survivor."

"Victim, you mean."

Shaking his head, Rhodey boinked Tony on the nose with his cookie. Twice. Like he was waking him up. "Nope. You survived. You broke through to the other side. You may have at one time been a victim, but not anymore. Not now."

Tony huffed in disbelief. "Yeah? And when did that happen?"

"About five minutes ago."

"What?" The spoon dropped to Tony's plate. Rhodey picked it up and pointedly put it back in Tony's hand.

"Eat that brownie, or it’s mine, Stark."

A real smile fell across Tony's face as warm affection and appreciation for Rhodey wrapped around him like a towel fresh from the dryer after running in the rain. "Lay off my brownie, you pig!"

Looking satisfied, Rhodey took another bite of his cookie. He swallowed and chased it with a gulp from the mason jar. "You admitted it." He bumped his shoulder with Tony's. "That's what you needed."

"I don't feel any better saying it. In fact, Platypus, I feel worse."

"That's not the point, Tones. It's gonna hurt right now because you never let yourself really feel the pain he caused. You gotta feel your way through it. You do that, and you'll be healed."

Tony stayed quiet after that, contemplating what Rhodey had said and slowly making his way through his dessert and (admittedly very good) espresso. After he scooped the last of the ice cream from the plate, he sat back, feeling, well… Feeling satisfied. Feeling good. It was new. Unheard of for him. This wasn't anything he was used to, but he liked it.

It hurt, but somehow he felt lighter.

"I need to talk to Steve."

\---

Clint allowed the back legs to the wooden chair he was on crash back against the floor. "Hill, eight o'clock," he said, sotto voce to Natasha, who sat next to him.

_"говно."_

"Shit indeed," he half chuckled, "guess that the cat’s out of the bag." They were deep in the back room of the New York Public Library, a hidden room of magical and cult related texts, hunting through the old tomes to find anything to send Howard back to 1961. They weren't making much headway.

Natasha calmly closed the text in front of her and stood, walking around the table and clearing the chair across from them of their papers and notes. "Agent Hill, have a seat."

Maria Hill shot her a look and sat. "When were you all going to inform SHIELD that Howard Stark had traveled through time?"

"Honestly?" Clint shrugged, leaning forward to grab a yellow pad with his scratchy handwriting on it, "After we had sent him back."

"Clint," Hill sighed, a weariness in her voice, "didn't you think we could help?"

Nat shook her head, "Maria, this is Avengers business. It's no offence to SHIELD, but we've got this covered. Locking Howard away wasn't going to help anyone, and you know that."

"Who says we would lock him away?" At their incredulous looks, she wilted. "Right, so maybe SHIELD would have. Wouldn't have been my first choice."

"You know Tony wouldn't have been okay with that. And he would have caused issues. Because he's Tony, and that's what he does." Tapping her fingers on the table, Nat tilted her head. "So how much trouble are we in?"

"A lot."

"Goody. It's been a while since I've been on Fury's bad side."

"Nat, this is serious. The Avengers have been hiding a time traveler." Picking up a second yellow pad with Natasha's handwriting on it, Hill flipped through, scanning it. "How's that going for you, by the way? Sending him back?"

"It's not," Clint answered with a grunt. "We can't find anything, though we located the original text Howard used to get here."

"Was this the reason for the sudden fascination in the memory serum?"

Clint shared a sheepish look with Nat. "Uh, yeah. But see? We're thinking about all the angles!"

Looking interested, Hill sat up straight. "Any progress on that?"

"Some," Nat said, suddenly engrossed in the book in front of her. "Bruce would know more, but last I heard he hadn't made that much progress with it. He, uh, well we've been distracted. If you absolutely _have_ to know."

"I do. And this distraction wouldn't happen to come in a package that's about 5'8, brown hair, big brown puppy dog eyes, and a penchant for being as annoying as possible?" Her grin was devilish and somehow fond. Nat snorted, and Clint grinned. "He's like a fungus. Grows on you."

"That he does," Nat answered, sitting back in her chair. "And yes."

"He's a mess, isn't he?"

It was Clint's turn to snort. "Like the aftermath of an F5." Nat turned to him and frowned judgingly. "What?" he defended, "I'm from Iowa!"

Hill waved her hand, dismissing Clint's bad joke like she had so many others. "How's he taking having his father here? I'm not partial to the details, but I know enough from interacting with Stark to know a bad childhood when I see one."

"It's complicated."

She leveled Nat with a glare. "I'll bet."

"How did you figure it out?" Clint asked, plucking the yellow pad from Hill's hands. Changing the subject was an art form for him. She didn't need to know that the mess included Steve as well.

"Uh, really?" She looked at him like a 1980s Canadian pop star would look at a reporter, _duh_ written all over her face. "Your battle? With the dragon? All over the news, Barton, come on."

"Oh. Right."

"Right, so the whole world knows, and it's trending on Twitter. Which could have been avoided if-"

Cutting her off with an annoyed look, Clint grumbled, "-If we came to SHIELD to begin with. Yeah, yeah, I know, _mom."_

Affronted, Hill shoved a large text across the table at him. "In your dreams. You're grounded, by the way," she pointed at him and slid her hand through the air to point at Natasha, "you too."

"But the big game is this weekend!"

Nat smacked his arm, "Shut your noise maker, Barton."

He laughed, looking as innocent as he could -- which he was well aware he could pull off far too effortlessly -- and shoved the text back to Hill. "Don't make fun of me; I'm deaf."

Nat pushed his face by actually putting her palm to his cheek and pushing him away, "Goodnight."

"Regardless," Hill snapped, her expression edging into annoyed, "the whole world is now cognizant of Howard Stark -- looking fresh and young -- running around the city, saving his son. When he died an old man over twenty years ago."

"So, what do we do?" Nat asked, tucking her leg underneath her body and leaning toward Hill. "Damage control?"

"There's no controlling this, Agent Romanoff, it's out there and there's video proof. Experts have been called into news stations to run facial recognition, the video and subsequent photos have been studied. They know it's Howard Stark."

"Okay," Clint said slowly, serious face on for serious business. He _was_ a spy after all; he knew his job. He knew when to drop the comedic act. "So, we need to get moving on the memory serum and double down on research to send him back. After we do that, the news and Twitter can say what they want; he won't be here to prove anything." Gesturing to Hill, he raised his eyebrows, pleading, "You can help with that, right? Help us go through all these boring books and find out how to send him home."

Hill shook her head, "No, I can't."

"So, what? You're here just to yell at us?"

"Clint," Nat warned, "Maria doesn't work for the Avengers."

"It's not that." She looked contrite, apologetic, holding her palms out in a peace offering. Making her voice softer, gentler to deliver bad news in the way Clint knew Hill always did, she smiled sadly, tapping the large green tome under several papers. "This is the book he used?" Nodding, Nat fished it out of the pile and moved to hand it to Hill, but she shook her head. "I don't need to see it, Nat."

"You know about the spell?!"

Hill nodded yes, her face solemn. "We've seen this before. One time. Our research lasted years."

"And?" Clint jumped up, grabbing the tome and waving it through the air, "This is something you should lead with, Hill! What happened? How did you send that person back?"

"We didn't. There's no way to return. Howard Stark is stuck here. Permanently."

-

[Tumblr post for the story! ](https://xria-rose.tumblr.com/post/634807463852621824/title-ordinary-men)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming close to the end! What do you all think?  
> If you enjoyed, please leave a comment down below!  
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Catch me on Tumblr @xRia-Rose


	8. The Hardest Hue to Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are resolved and unresolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the delay in posting, but the good news is that entire story is officially written! This was supposed to be the last chapter, but it was far too large, and I felt bad dumping an almost 20k chapter on you guys, so it's split up. Two 9k-ish chapters and an epilogue that's less than 2k. 
> 
> Chapter nine will be up next Friday and the epilogue will be up the Friday after that.
> 
> As always, eternal thanks to my beta, MountainKestral. ❤
> 
> POTENTIAL SPOILER WARNING for this chapter, but a note on the rating:  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> I've kept the sex written here non-explicit, but this chapter jumps that. It's not as explicit as I write in my smut fics, not even close, but it's definitely more risque than the rest of the sex in this fic. Just a warning. You can skip right past it and go straight to the talking if you want.

Steve was in the living room as Rhodey and Tony landed, a small bubble of happiness that Tony was able to go flying a welcome reprieve from everything that he had been feeling. All the anger at himself and Howard, at Nat… Even some at Tony for breaking up with him and leaving him alone to wallow in his own guilt. He felt so twisted up inside with an ache that prior to the serum would have had him panicking that he was sick again. It was confusing and yet so clear.

He was sad. He was lonely without Tony. He was mourning the Howard he _still_ knew and somehow trying to reconcile that Howard with the one who raised Tony (and raised fists to him as well) with the Howard who was holed up in the guest room not fifty feet from him. It was all too much. Too many pieces to fit into a puzzle that shouldn't have been so huge. Pieces that absolutely fit somewhere but seemed too big, too bold, too off color with the picture he had in his head. He felt like a toddler just learning his shapes, trying to fit the circle block into the square hole. Cramming it against the edges like he could force it to make sense.

But none of this made sense.

And no amount of banging and screaming and throwing fits would change that. He had no choice but to learn how to fit the pieces together.

As he watched through the glass windows looking out onto the landing pad from his seat on the couch, Rhodey put his arm around Tony's shoulders and laughed, giving his best friend a shake and drawing a wide smile from him. The new suits that Steve had watched Tony build stood tall and silent like golems behind them as they walked the path to the door. Tony looked happier -- and Steve supposed he should be glad, if he wasn't so jealous that it wasn't him making Tony look like that. It was Rhodey. Tony's best friend. The center of the puzzle that made everything else make sense. He was Tony's guide, the impetus that set him into motion to become the man he would be. Without Rhodey, Afghanistan could have ended differently. The situation with Stane so much worse. The abusive influence of Howard unchallenged.

Once, long ago, Steve had his own Rhodey. His own moral guide. His own compass.

It was just another missing piece to his own puzzle.

He couldn't help but wonder -- especially as he watched his heart walk along the landing pad -- where did Steve fit into that particular puzzle? The one in the compact spitfire package with large brown eyes and a heart the size of Texas. Did Steve even belong anymore? Was his cut just too bulky to smoothly click in with the other bits of Tony's life?

Was he missing too many pieces of his own?

Forcing his eyes away, Steve tried to temper down the longing that began to boil within him. Not just for missing Tony, but for wanting his own best friend. His biggest missing piece.

Sometimes, he yearned for Bucky so badly that it physically hurt.

It wasn't often that Steve let himself fall into envy. He much preferred to try to live his life day by day in the present as often as he could. But when it did happen, when he felt his very own green monster stir within him, he was always watching someone with their closest friend. Watching them interact and laugh, or as they comforted one another. He watched Nat and Clint with their almost twin-like intuitiveness, how they could read each other, oftentimes before the other knew what they were thinking in the first place. How they could lay together -- all tangled limbs and blankets -- and take silent comfort that the other was near.

He watched Tony and Rhodey, after months apart, pick up like they had never left the other's company. Their inside jokes and stories that meant everything to them and nothing to anybody else, how Tony could make one face and have Rhodey in stitches, or how Rhodey -- knowing when Tony needed it -- could open his arms and, with no explanation needed, wrap Tony up. He often teased them for their 'slumber parties' -- nights they would stay up until dawn watching bad 80's horror or action movies, melded together on the bed amongst candy wrappers, takeout, and discarded popcorn, giggling like twelve year olds.

He teased them, but he was happy. Happy for Tony, content to watch the two act like absolute idiots around each other. Perfectly fine to be on the outside, to have someone else for Tony to use as his own personal pillow, to make him laugh and smile.

But he was still envious. Even through his jaunty remarks and light-hearted outward demeanor.

All he had were memories, and as the years went on, they faded and grew soft around the edges.

He and Bucky, sneaking in to see the newest motion picture. Or strolling through Central Park pretending they knew bird calls, when really they had worked out a system for the types of dames they saw (they really loved _bird hunting_ ). Cuddled together for warmth in the dead of winter, talking in hushed voices of their dreams, how they were going to get out of the tenement apartment they lived in and make something of themselves. How Bucky always knew when Steve was in trouble. How Steve always knew when Bucky needed a little extra support. How they complimented each other, like two colors opposite on the color wheel.

Steve loved the Avengers. They gave him a family when he had lost his own. He had a different relationship with each of them, and he appreciated every one. Nat was like the sister he never had: she put him in his place and challenged him. Clint was the guy you went to when you wanted to have fun but also feel secure and included. Thor was the big brother who loved unconditionally and had the best advice. Bruce told it like it was, never sugar coating it, but somehow it always came out kindly. And Tony.

Tony, who was the love of his life and the closet he had to a best friend in the future.

But it still wasn't the same.

No one could replace Bucky. And for that, a hole lived inside of Steve that couldn't be patched up. It sat there, big and empty, taking up space.

He was surrounded by people who loved him but was somehow still lonely. No one understood him like Bucky. No one could steer his mind like he did. Had he been there with Steve, there was a chance that Steve wouldn't have made so many mistakes concerning Tony and Howard.

Or maybe not.

Even Bucky couldn't control Steve. He could guide and offer direction and help, but he couldn't always get through Steve's thick head.

Bucky had been his Jiminy Cricket, but just like Pinocchio, Steve didn't always listen to him.

The door opened, and Steve felt the cool breeze from the early April air. He looked up as they entered and found Tony watching him. Shifting uneasily in his seat, Steve swallowed.

"I'll go. I have -- uh -- I have some… Some paperwork." He stood up, fully intending to slink off to his apartment to lick his wounds when Tony raised his hand to stop him.

"Steve-" he began, stepping forward to block Steve's escape, "-wait. We need to talk."

Steve froze, unsure of what to do. He was afraid of getting his hopes up, too sure that Tony would just want things amicable between them, too used to the bottom dropping out to dare even dream about having Tony back.

_Nothing gold can stay._

He couldn't keep his best friend Bucky, and there was no way he could keep Tony.

Tony's head tilted to the side, looking up at him quizzically. _"Nature's first green is gold,"_ he began to recite, drawing a smile from Steve. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud but was pleased to hear Tony recite his favorite poem by heart. _"Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; but only so an hour."_

Steve helped him finish, _"Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay."_

Stepping toward Steve as they finished -- Rhodey a forgotten figure behind him -- Tony took Steve's hand. "Frost was right about some things in that poem, you know. I'm an engineer, I don't really have much to say about literature and its analysis, but I can say this: The leaves lost their color in autumn, right? And they die in winter? He says nothing good can stay-'' Moving closer, Tony lifted his hand and cupped Steve's cheek. He felt warm and soft. Like home. Steve felt the tightness in his chest loosen, just a little. " _So Eden sank to grief."_ Tony continued, quoting the poem, and Steve couldn't help the little grin that was forming as Tony attempted to break it down. "That's innocence. Eden was innocent. But it couldn't stay that way. We can't stay that way. But that doesn't mean it's not still good. Autumn and winter are still beautiful. They're just different."

Steve's breath caught. He didn't know Tony ever paid that much attention to poetry or his ramblings about their meanings. Certainly not enough to say what Steve thought he was trying to say.

"Tony?" he asked, his voice quivering like the leaves on a branch during a storm. "What are you saying?"

Tugging on Steve's hand, he moved toward the door, "Can we talk? Please?"

Nodding, Steve let Tony lead him down the hallway and into Steve's apartment, leaving Rhodey alone in the living room. All he was aware of was the way the curls at the back of Tony's neck swirled up from being mussed by the helmet. The way his cologne gently wafted back to Steve, smelling expensive and subtle. Mixed with an underlying scent of metal and oil and coffee, with an undercurrent of baby powder from after his shower, the one thing from Howard that Tony learned that was good. He noticed the dip in Tony's waist, how it popped out to form his round and perfectly shaped behind. How Tony's gait was sure and steady, a bit cocky but somehow still sheltered behind a calm confidence that Steve had at one time taken for arrogance.

Everything else blurred into the background like white noise. Rhodey, his memories of Bucky, Howard…

There was Tony. And there was Robert Frost. Or rather a collection of his poems that Tony plucked from the shelf by Steve's bed as the door clicked closed behind them. Tony knew exactly where it was because he knew Steve. He knew Steve read through that collection often, that it was a comfort to him. Tony himself had read from it _for_ Steve. His timbre deep and steady as he recited poem after poem, Steve's head in his lap. After a hard mission, after a bad day, after Peggy passed…

Tony, who never held much stock in things that weren't rooted in science, who scoffed at things like poetry. Who learned and read for Steve.

_"A stranger came to the door at eve,_

_And he spoke the bridegroom fair._

_He bore a green-white stick in his hand,_

_And, for all burden, care._

_He asked with the eyes more than the lips_

_For a shelter for the night,_

_And he turned and looked at the road afar_

_Without a window light."_

Steve blinked as Tony's voice faded out at the end of the verse, and he folded the worn dogear of the page back down to where Steve had it. Gently closing the book, he looked up at Steve, his eyes open and wide and bright with unshed tears that Steve hadn't realized had gathered until then. "Rhodey helped me see some things. And I spent the whole way back planning on what I would say to you. But then you quoted Frost, and it kinda threw a wrench in my plans."

There was so much to say. Steve felt the beginnings of a thousand words form in his throat and get stuck at the back of his tongue.

Tony continued, a small blush starting to creep up his neck. He was making himself vulnerable. Showing his belly to Steve. "So, I guess what I'm really just trying to say, is: Will you let this stranger stay the night?"

He couldn't help it. Steve let out a laugh. "Tony, oh, sweetheart. Firstly, you're not a stranger. Secondly, you got that poem completely wrong." But he stepped into Tony's space, hands coming up to frame Tony's face.

"It's the thought that counts."

"Tony-"

"I'm sorry, Steve-" Tony cut him off, bringing his head forward to rest against Steve's chest, "I'm so incredibly sorry. I was so wrong."

"What-?"

"I let my anxiety and stress and- and, well frankly… my daddy issues get in the way. I should have never broken up with you. I've made a lot of stupid mistakes in my life-" He barked out an embarrassed laugh, "-especially for being a genius. Stupid, stupid mistakes. But the worst… the worst was letting you go."

Taking Tony's face gently in his hands, Steve tilted his head back so he could look into his eyes. "I'm just as much to blame. I should have been supportive of you. Instead I just did what I thought was right. What I thought was best for you." He let his forehead fall softly against Tony's. "I'd say we're both idiots." Within Steve's body, he felt the pieces shift, moving alongside each other, searching for their correct placement. "Complete, ridiculous idiots."

The smile came slowly, but it lit up Tony's face brilliantly. "Two halves of the same idiot."

"Absolutely."

"So, will you take me back?"

Steve closed his eyes, his heart fit to burst. He hadn't dared let himself hope, but there Tony was, asking for the one thing Steve had refused to let himself think about.

"Of course," Steve answered, his voice barely above a whisper, "but we need to talk. I messed up. You can't put all the blame on yourself."

"I don't care about any of that at this moment. I just-" One of the tears gathering in Tony's eyes slipped down his cheek, and Steve brushed it away. "I just want you. Right now. I need you."

When it came to missions, to team things, Steve could tell Tony no. He had no trouble putting his foot down when it involved dangerous situations. But at home, where they were just two people deeply in love, he could never deny Tony anything. It was his weakness.

And he was okay with that.

Their first kiss was borderline shy. Tentative. Their second, heated and passionate. But this…

As Steve bent his head to take Tony's lips on his, he knew: Not even the most famous poet in the world could put any of it into words.

The shifting inside him ceased. One piece of the puzzle -- the most important piece -- was back in place.

There was so much to discuss, so much to talk about and work through, but it would all fall easily where it was supposed to now they were together again.

It didn't matter that three different Howards were warring within Steve, or that Tony was most likely feeling the same internal battle. They could weather this together. And though he missed Bucky tremendously and felt envy at seeing others with their best friends, he could take comfort that Tony could fill those missing pieces within him. Both best friend and lover, like a bonus.

Somehow, Steve had grown more in the past eleven days than he has since he was unfrozen.

He didn't _have_ to control everything. It wasn't u _p to him_ to protect and save everyone.

He lost Bucky -- he didn't _have to_ lose Tony as well.

Tony deepened the kiss, sliding his arms up and around Steve's neck to pull him closer, bringing them down onto Steve's bed. Their bodies, hot with want and need, ached for the touch that had been denied them for their time apart. They were tense with anticipation and excitement, the desire for that physical affirmation tangible.

Settling in between Tony's legs, Steve kissed the side of his mouth. "I love you -- _so_ much."

Tony's smile was free and sweet, and he cupped Steve's face, leaning up to peck the tip of his nose. "I love you too. Let's never break up again. 0/10 would not recommend."

"Agreed."

Steve let his lips trail down Tony's jaw, nipping at his chin before pulling back and smiling down at him. "What do you want, angel?"

"You. Just you." Swiftly, Tony rolled them over until he was straddling Steve's hips. "Let me take care of you, babe, okay?"

Nodding, Steve ran his hands down Tony's thighs. "Whatever you want, doll."

_"You're the one that I want, you! Ooh! Ooh! Honey! The one that I want!"_

God, how Steve had missed him. "You're really singing Grease? Now?" He gripped Tony's hips, giving them a little squeeze and a shake. "Sure that's what you want?"

Slipping his hands under Steve's shirt, Tony pushed it up. "I just said I wanted you. Get your hearing checked, old man!"

Steve sat up, hoisting Tony to balance in his lap and removed his shirt, tossing it to the side of the bed. "Who you calling old, you geezer?"

Crossing his arms at the bottom of his own shirt and pulling it off on one fluid motion, Tony laughed, his discarded shirt joining Steve's on the other side of the bed. Steve immediately bent down to kiss the center of the arc reactor. He couldn't help it. It was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen next to Tony himself. He missed that blue light. Tony's hands sluiced through Steve's hair as he sat up, his eyes reflecting that light. "You. I'm calling you old, my grumpy old man." He deflated slightly, shoulders slumping as he let his forehead rest against Steve's, arms coming up to frame the back of Steve's head. "I missed this. Teasing you. Kissing you. _Touching_ you."

"Me too." Steve's head shifted to capture Tony's lips. "Save the talking for when we're worn out."

"Good idea." Sliding backwards down Steve's legs, his lips leaving his at the last second, Tony's hands expertly undid Steve's belt buckle. He tapped Steve's side for him to lean up so Tony could slide his pants and underwear off at the same time. "Missed that too," he gestured to Steve's length, already hard and leaking with anticipation of Tony's touch. "Know what else I missed?" he asked, wrapping a hand around him.

"Jesus, Tony…"

"Go on," he smirked, leaning down to blow a breath of air over the tip, "guess."

"Tony, sweetheart, I have no blood in my brain at the moment."

"I miss how you have zero refractory," he answered for him, and he swallowed Steve whole, wrapping his lips around him and sucking gently. Steve's hips involuntarily jerked, his hands tangling in the curls atop Tony's head.

"Tony!" he moaned, tugging softly on the strands, "I'm not going to last long, baby doll."

"That's the point, Steven," he pulled back to say, his hand pumping in place of his mouth, "this is about you right now." Steve had no answer. He fell back against the bed as Tony took him in his mouth again, hips rocking gently as he was brought to the brink and pushed over, crying out as he came down Tony's throat.

As soon as he caught his breath, he was grabbing for Tony, tugging him up to crash their mouths together, licking along the inside and tasting himself. "Your turn."

Tony sighed dramatically, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "What did I just say? This is about what you want."

"And what I want is to lick you open."

He could see the idea take hold of Tony, the way his mouth dropped just a little, the way his eyes darkened. "Who am I to deny you your favorite treat?"

Steve flipped them, Tony's back landing on their shirts. He chuckled at Tony's undignified squeak, yanking off his jeans and boxers and pushing his legs up and open. "My absolute favorite," Steve murmured, pressing his face close and inhaling Tony's musky scent. "And it's all mine." He parted Tony's cheeks, revealing his pretty little hole and dove in, wasting no time in getting exactly what he wanted. Licking, biting, sucking… Slowly working Tony open as the legs on either side of his head quivered and trembled with the fight against closing them. He was so involved, he didn't feel Tony flail his arms to get into the nightstand drawer and toss the bottle of lube next to Steve.

But Steve was not ready for that just yet. He had feared that he would never have Tony at his fingers and tongue again, and he didn't want to miss a single moment. Bringing his knees underneath him, he sat up and tugged Tony's lower half with him, almost bending him in half as he spread him impossibly wide, his tongue pushing inside the rim.

"Fuck! Baby, I'm not...shit!" Steve loved when he could make Tony tongue tied. "I don't want to come yet, Steve! Fuck! Oh god!" Reluctantly, Steve pulled back, preening with how much of a mess Tony already was. "Fucking hell, Steve," Tony let his head drop back to the mattress. "You are seriously the only man who can make me come just from eating me out." He lifted his hand and bopped Steve lightly on top of his head. "Not yet! I have plans for you!"

"I'm all ears."

"You're all mouth is what you are," Tony grumbled, lifting into his elbows and pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"You complaining?"

"Not in the slightest. You have a gift. Now lay back. I'm going to ride you."

Steve felt his stomach flip. That was an _exceptional_ idea. He scooted up to the head of the bed and onto his back, twinning his fingers with Tony's as the smaller man lifted one knee to fit himself over Steve's body, hovering over his length that was already again erect. Steve let his fingertips glide up Tony's thighs and around to his ass, squeezing and kneading the round globes as Tony grabbed the lube and slicked Steve.

"Now, listen here, honey, I'm doing all the work." Tony's hands pumped him slowly, spreading the lube evenly. "This is my show, Captain." Steve grinned, his fingers gathering some of the extra lube that had dribbled onto his groin without Tony seeing.

"Sure thing, Anthony. _Your_ show." And it was. Steve was absolutely happy to hand over the controls, but that didn't mean he couldn't have some fun with it. With two fingers smeared with lube, he snaked his hand around and slipped them inside of Tony, aiming right for his prostate and stimulating it.

Tony gasped, his eyes closing as the sensation grew. "Steve…" he groaned, head falling forward. "Oh fuck."

"Now," Steve said when Tony's breath started to become ragged, "it's your show."

"How are you so good at that?" Tony lamented, eyes still closed as he lined himself up.

"It's because I know _you,_ angel. I know what you like, just like you know what I like." Steve sat up just enough to kiss Tony's forehead. "We're meant, doll. That's all there is to it."

Slowly, Tony sank down on him, sighing contentedly as he did so. Steve let out a puff of breath, the tightness and warmth around him almost too much. _This_ was home. Tony and him together, in _any_ capacity. Nothing could replace the feelings he had when he was with his love. They could be homeless and living in the streets, and whatever box they lived in would still be _home_ because it was with Tony.

"I love you," Steve breathed as Tony began to move. He had more to say, but the pleasure coursing through him as Tony's hips rocked took over every single thought in his head. He let his hands rest on Tony's thighs, mouth agape as Tony's insides clenched around him, sliding him in and out, the heat building between the two of them.

Tony's eyes drifted closed, but Steve didn't want to let his own shut. He forced them to stay open, not wanting to miss a thing, not a single second of this. Letting go of Tony's legs, he brought his hands up, pulling Tony's where they laid splayed on Steve's chest and linking their fingers together. Tony's abdomen tightened and loosened with every roll of his hips, his body leaned over just enough to lift off of Steve's length and push back down, his own erection dragging across Steve's skin, causing him to shudder and moan.

The slickness where they were connected eased the way as Tony moved faster until he was all but leaning on Steve's chest, his bottom popping up and down, up and down. His muscles clenched and released, dragging Steve closer and closer until he dug his nails into Tony's arms and came unexpectedly, gasping loudly as he filled Tony.

He couldn't control himself when Tony rode him. He couldn't set the pace and slow down if he felt it would be over too soon. It was one of the reasons he loved it so much. Tony would ride him, and it was like diving into a wave at the beach. You could only control so much before you were shifted in the water by the power of the current. He moved to take hold of Tony's erection, but his hands were forced back.

"No," Tony moaned, his hips still rocking and undulating, milking Steve and bringing his arousal back up, his erection not waning as Tony continued to move up and down, clenching and unclenching, slow and deep. "Not yet. I want to come on you, but only-" He moaned long and low as Steve arched his hips to drive deeper, and offset the angle enough to drag against Tony's prostate. "Fuck! Only after you've -- oh god, Steve! -- you've filled me again!"

Steve grabbed the sides of Tony's face, yanking him down to shove his tongue in his mouth, unable to control himself as his hips jutted up, slamming into Tony, his movements completely involuntary at this point. "Come on, doll, let me see you come," Steve purred, feeling the familiar tightness in his balls and willing himself to hang on, just a little longer. "I've missed seeing how beautiful you are when you come."

Honestly, he didn't know how anyone put up with them if they were like this after only a day apart, but Steve wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. He reached around, fingers finding where they were connected. Tony's rim was stretched wide and dripping with the spend from Steve's previous orgasm. He moaned, the pads of his fingertips pressing against the muscle and rubbing upward to stimulate Tony from the outside, pulsating against his perineum.

Tony jolted, his gasp coming out guttural and hoarse as he came, shuddering and jerking with the force of his climax. Feeling the wetness spread across his abdomen, Steve let go, relinquishing what little command he had over his body and letting his orgasm cascade over him, filling Tony again.

Both rode through the high, eyes shut and breathing heavy enough that the hot breath of the other tickled their skin. When they finally slowed to a stop, Tony collapsed on top of him, chest heaving with the exertion. Steve wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly as they came down.

The sweat was starting to cool on their skin, and he felt Tony shiver from it. Kissing the side of his head, he gently lifted Tony off of his length, loving the way he quivered as he pulled past his prostate on the way out. "Come on, angel, let's get cleaned up."

"No," Tony whined, clinging to Steve to keep him from getting up. "I'm too comfy. This is where I live now."

Chuckling softly, Steve carefully removed Tony's octopus hold from his body. "Shower, then we'll talk."

"Then sleep?"

"Then dinner, I think."

Tony groaned petulantly, burying his face in Steve's chest. "Meanie."

"Spoiled brat."

Tony's head popped up from its hiding place, his chin propped up on Steve. His eyes were dancing, full of mischief, until slowly they dimmed, and he looked contemplative for a moment before blinking, a little sadness creeping in around the edges. Steve cupped his cheek, instantly worried.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I haven't slept well," Tony admitted quietly. "Without you next to me I just tossed and turned. All I wanted to do was sleep, and I just couldn't."

"Yeah, me too. But the good news-" Steve said as he sat up, "-is that we don't have to worry about that anymore."

"I really could use a nap with my favorite pillow."

Sliding to the edge of the bed, Steve stood up. "Don't deflect with humor, Tony." He held his hand out, and when Tony made a face at him, he took it upon himself to slip his fingers through Tony's and tug him toward the end of the mattress.

Grumbling, Tony let Steve pull him off the bed into a standing position, leaning on Steve with a rather cranky expression on his face. "That's kinda what I do."

"I know, sweetness, but right now we need to be open with each other. We need to heal."

Tony sighed, "You're right. I know you are. But you owe me pillow time."

"I promise." Placing his hand at the small of Tony's back, he guided him toward the bathroom. "Let's get cleaned up, talk, and then figure something out for dinner. Afterwards, I promise I'll be the best pillow you've ever slept on."

Finally having Tony back in his arms made it difficult, but Steve managed to keep the shower brief. They washed quickly, even considering how Steve took the loofah from Tony's hands to wash his thighs and butt, proclaiming that he _"always cleans up [his] own messes_. The trouble came when they were dried off and got dressed, Tony continuously reaching out to touch Steve until they ended up a tangled mess on the couch across from Steve's bed, both shirtless and content to hold each other.

Though they both knew the needed to talk about everything was important for their moving forward together, neither made the jump to start. They lay there, Tony on Steve's chest, skin to skin, tired and sated, content. The silence twirled around their sleepy bodies, enveloping them in a warm cocoon. It was nice to just hear the other breathe, knowing he was back where he belonged: In the other's arms.

Time stretched, like those hazy moments in between waking and sleeping where nothing had meaning except the cozy, protected feeling that hovered around your body. Steve let his fingers trail up and down Tony's side, his nose pressed into Tony's hair. Almost sure that Tony was dozing peacefully, Steve was a little surprised when he started talking, sounding alert even though he spoke so quietly Steve had to strain to hear him.

"You were right."

"Hmm?" Steve answered, pressing his lips against Tony's head and inhaling the scent of his own shampoo in Tony's curls. "Right about what?"

Tony shifted, hiding his face in Steve's shoulder, just for a moment, before he took a deep breath and returned to his previous position. But that meant he still wasn't facing Steve. It was his vulnerability acting, and Steve knew Tony enough to know it for what it was. It wasn't because Tony didn't trust him, not at all. It was simply a byproduct of being raised first by an abusive father and then betrayed by his godfather. It was a habit. A way to protect himself, to shield his eyes that spoke every word Tony held within himself. Steve was working on helping Tony fix that, to remove the proverbial sunglasses from his face.

"Sweetheart?" he gently prodded when Tony made no move to continue. "What were you wrong about?"

Tony heaved another sigh and rubbed a hand down his face. "I was abused. You were right." Steve froze, unwilling to upset the moment by moving, breathing too loudly, or -- frankly -- doing anything. This was a big admission for Tony. "He abused me. I _am_ a statistic. And I did throw myself at the first kindness he showed." Pushing himself up, he turned to finally face Steve. "I'm lucky this Howard seems to be a good guy. The one I knew would have taken advantage of that."

"You had years of hurt built up by how you were raised. Of course you wanted his approval and love." Sitting up from his supine position, he sat back on the arm of the couch, partially tucked into the corner of it for support, and pulled Tony on top of him. Tony settled his legs on either side of Steve's and lay against him, his head tucked under Steve's chin and his arms wrapped around his middle.

"I'm starting to see that. And I admit it was foolish, even if this Howard is a decent guy. But that still doesn't mean you get to try and stop me."

"I know. You're right, Tony. I have no excuse."

Tilting his head back to press a chaste kiss against Steve's jaw, Tony continued, "But _that_ doesn't mean that if you see me doing something stuipd you shouldn't say anything." He sat up just enough to look directly in Steve's eyes, showing every bit of himself. It made Steve's heart skip, seeing how hard Tony was trying to present his vulnerability to Steve. "You have a voice. And I want you to use it. It's just sometimes I'm going to ask you to take a step back. In battles, I fully expect you to argue with me. It keeps us both alive. But when it comes to stuff like this, I need to make my own mistakes as well." Tony let his hands slide up Steve's body and drape around his neck, pressing his forehead against his. "You can't always protect me. But that doesn't mean I want you to stop trying. Pick and choose your battles. I need to get hurt to learn. You too."

Overwhelmed for a moment at the maturity and love with which Tony spoke, Steve had to take a deep breath to steady himself. "I'm so proud of you for coming to terms with your abuse. That's a huge step. That's number one, and it's so important that you accept the things you can't change." He tugged Tony back down, resting his chin against his head. "And I promise I'll step back and stop trying to insert my opinion in everything. I don't mean to be so self-righteous. I just want everyone I love safe and happy."

"You're not the only one who's been self-righteous, honey. Me too. And I'm sorry for not sitting down and talking to you -- really talking to you -- before this. I'm sorry for letting my anxiety win instead of trusting in your love." He was shaking, just a little, and Steve squeezed him, his own body tightly wound.

"I should have fought harder for you."

Shaking his head, Tony softly bopped Steve on his arm. "No, I hurt you. I was wrong. You have no fault in that. I had convinced myself you were better off without me."

"So, we're back to the part where we're both idiots?"

He could feel Tony smile against his neck. "We've come full circle."

"Look at that, we have."

Blindly reaching for the afghan on the back of the couch, Tony tugged it down. Steve helped him pull it over both of them, settling down to finally give into the urge to nap. Making up, the sex, and the talk had taken a lot out of them. It was time to rest.

Dinner and everything else could wait.

\---

Sometimes, as Nat walked the streets of New York City, she reveled in the idea that she could just get lost there. It was a tantalizing thought. With a few well placed steps, she'd disappear into the crowd and no one would be the wiser. On either side of her as they jogged across E 42nd St, Clint and Maria Hill were lost to their own thoughts. Even as experienced as they were, they wouldn't be able to find her if she chose to disappear.

The idea tempted her. With what Hill had revealed at the library, it seemed so much easier to run than to face the problems back at the tower. The two block walk from the New York Public Library to Avengers Tower was not nearly long enough to fully gather her thoughts. The sinking feeling in her chest had less to do with the coolness of the early spring air and more with the heaviness she felt knowing she had to explain to Howard that he was unable to go home. She didn't even want to _think_ about the implications it meant for Tony.

Hill had been clear in what she knew. The spell was irreversible, and the only other person they knew of who had performed it was still living his life out in the future. Fury knew more, and they had left a message for him to get over to the tower as soon as possible. Which made it even more prudent that they hasten their steps. The team needed to be forewarned.

_Storms a'coming!_

As much as she longed to hightail it back to the safe house upstate or the one in the Rockies that even Clint didn't know about, Natasha knew she couldn't. If there was one lesson she had learned from the Red Room that applied to everyone and not just assassins, it was that when the storm comes, don't run for cover. You can't keep the rain from falling; it's better to face it head on than get swept away with the flood.

It was evident as soon as Hill had sat down with them that Fury was pissed that they’d kept Howard's arrival secret. Him learning that the magic used meant that Howard was going to be in the future indefinitely?

Nat wondered if perhaps bubble wrapping the team would help keep them safe.

And the problems it caused for Tony's existence… she didn't know if any amount of safety wrapping could protect him.

They entered at the back of the building through a lesser known entrance that was further to walk but had less time posing for photos. Hill, knowing the way, charged ahead to call the elevator, and all three stepped on in silence. Hanging from Hill's shoulder was a leather bag. In it -- tucked safely away -- was the spell book. They looked at each other before exiting the elevator into the common rooms, each looking more worried than the next. Hill, finally bringing the strap of the bag over her head, placed it on the kitchen counter. It was safe there.

Nat slid off her jacket and hung out on the hook by the door. "We should get the others. JARVIS? Can you-"

"I'm here." A voice by the door said, and Nat wheeled around to see Rhodey leaning against the frame. "Haven't seen Bruce or Thor, and according to JARVIS, Howard is reading in the guest room."

"Steve and Tony?" she asked, tentatively, unsure of how much she should insinuate. Rhodey had taken Tony out to lunch -- and out of everyone they knew -- he was the best at knocking sense into the stubborn genius.

With a smile, Rhodey pushed off the door frame, walking into the kitchen. "They're together in Steve's room, talking. Been in there a while, so probably more than talking." At her raised eyebrows, he laughed. "Tony and I had a really good conversation before. He knows he was wrong breaking up with Steve. And I doubt Steve wouldn't take him back."

"This is important, but-" She glanced at Clint and Hill, "-maybe we should give them a few more minutes. They're more -- I guess -- more solid when they're together. When they're not bickering like an old married couple at least." And they deserved a few moments of peace before the second shoe dropped.

"Fury will be here soon," Hill warned, "so not too much longer. Have JARVIS alert them at least. And Dr. Banner and Thor?"

JARVIS answered her, his tone a little snippy from being unable to do so before. "I have alerted Sir and the Captain. As for Dr. Banner and Thor, they are in the latter's rooms. I shall send along a message to come out."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Nat placated the AI. She didn't care if she was on anyone's bad side most of the time, but an all-knowing artificial intelligence was where she drew the damn line.

"You are most welcome, Agent Romanoff. Your manners, as usual, are impeccable. I wish I could say the same for Agents Barton and Hill."

"Hey!"

"Excuse me?"

Laughing, the slight against Hill and Clint at least bringing the mood up a little, Nat left the kitchen and headed into the living room and the couch in the corner. She sat, crossing her legs and letting the weight she was carrying fall off as she sank into the cushions, her back melting into the softness. Thor and Bruce both entered, looking curious and taking the loveseat across from the bookcase. Clint stretched out next to Nat, and Hill took the armchair, her face creased with worry.

"Should we get Howard out here as well?"

Bruce looked up sharply at her words, his head swinging around to look at Nat and Clint. "How did she-"

"Videos of the battle," Clint answered easily. He shrugged. "Howard saving Tony went viral."

"Fantastic."

"Fury is en route as well," Clint continued, looking from Bruce to Thor, "and we have info on the spell Howard used."

"Useful info?"

Clint looked away, out the back windows and across the horizon. Maybe he saw her safe house as well. They were too alike sometimes. "It's not good, if that's what you're asking."

Bruce stood up, "Then he should be here, as well as Steve and Tony," his eyes moved to glance at Rhodey who nodded. "That's good news at least."

"I'll get them," Nat offered, standing up, though she loathed having to re-shoulder her burdens. "You get Howard. Better to hear it from us. I know JARVIS can just tell them to come out but…"

"I understand, Agent Romanoff, and I approve," JARVIS responded. The corners of her lips ticked upwards. The AI often wanted to be the one to do things, especially for Tony, but she appreciated when he knew to step back.

She nodded in acknowledgment. "JARVIS, as much warning as you can for when Fury arrives?"

"Absolutely."

Down the hallway, she lightly knocked on Steve's door. There was shuffling beyond, but no raised voices. Which was a great sign that what Rhodey had hoped -- what they all did! -- was reality. The door opened to a shirtless Steve, an equally shirtless Tony on the couch behind him. She raised an eyebrow.

Blushing, Steve gestured to Tony. "All good."

"I'm-" She paused, surprised at how happy she felt despite the situation. Although, she really shouldn't be all that shocked that she was. She loved both of them and loved them together. Of course she'd feel happy to learn they were good. "I'm glad...I mean I'm really glad to hear that. And it's bad timing, but we need you. In the living room. We have information pertaining to Howard."

"Oh! Great! Let me- let me get a shirt on!" Turning from the door, Steve beckoned her inside. She stepped over the threshold and let the door click shut behind her.

"Not great, I need to prepare you. It's not good news."

Pausing from handing Tony one of his hoodies, Steve frowned, "What do you mean."

Tony, who had been quiet prior, took the hoodie from Steve's hands and pulled out over his head. He looked happy but exhausted. "Spit it out, Tashi."

"I hate when you call me that."

He gave her a sheepish grin, "Just trying to lighten the mood, honey-cakes." Neither he or Steve bothered with shoes or socks. It was cute in a way, and maybe if Nat wasn't dreading breaking their little bubble, she would have pointed it out.

"Come on," she said instead, walking back to the door, "I'll let it slide this time, in light of…well. In light of." It wasn't time yet to finish that thought. Clint was like her -- he'd want to only have to say it once. And if they wanted to forewarn Steve and Tony as well as Howard before Fury showed up, they needed to hurry into the living room.

Steve glanced at her warily as he passed her into the hallway. "How bad?"

"Just- just go."

Tony looked up at him, taking Steve's hand, his own trembling. With a tight smile, Steve kissed his head and led them into the other room, projecting a wall of unity. She watched them, feeling the earlier elation at their regrouping slip away to nervousness. It wasn't just Howard being stuck in the wrong time, it was Tony's future as well. If Howard couldn't go back, were they going to lose Tony?

She had seen Back to the Future, probably too many times given Clint's obsession with the franchise and it being a comfort movie for him, but Tony still looked pretty damn solid. Maybe it wouldn't affect what already was. Marty McFly went to the past, not the future after all.

Or maybe one day they'd wake up and there'd be no trace of him. No memory of the exuberant little genius.

They wouldn't even know what they were missing.

Howard was just entering the living room when they joined the rest of the team. He looked shaken, but his face lit up when he saw Steve and Tony, his eyes zipping down to see their joined hands, a bright smile growing on his face.

"Well, thank god." He was across the room in five strides, pulling Tony into a tight hug before doing the same to Steve, standing on his toes to reach. Realizing what he was doing, both Steve and Howard snapped back, clearing their throats awkwardly. "Sorry! I'm just… I'm happy for you. For both of you." He gestured between them. "I approve of-of this. I mean!" His face went red. "Not that you need my approval but-"

"It's okay, Howard," Steve came to the rescue, and the look on his face spoke volumes of how far he'd come with him. "It's nice to hear you're okay with this. With us."

"I am!"

"If you don't mind," Hill interrupted, standing abruptly and shoving her hands in her pockets, "we don't have much time."

"My estimate is that Director Fury will arrive in 9 minutes and 57 seconds," JARVIS supplied.

"Right," Hill motioned to the couch, "Mr. Stark," she looked at Tony, then to Steve. "Captain. Uh-" she faltered, squinting at Howard, "Mr. Stark… as well? Sit. You're going to need to."

Apprehensive, they took their seats. Nat opted to stand. There was too much nervous energy fluttering around in her stomach. She couldn't sit even if she wanted to. "This is Maria Hill," she informed Howard, "She's an agent at SHIELD."

Hill brushed aside all pretense of etiquette, uninterested with the niceties of meeting someone with so much at stake. "With not much time to even attempt to elucidate, I'll come right out and say it." Hill stood straight, her shoulders rolled back and tense. If Natasha didn't know her so well, she'd think Hill was calm and in control, but if someone knew where to look, they would see the small tremble in her hands that gave her away. Hill tried to hide it, but Natasha was sure she had grown to care about the Avengers in her own way.

She directed herself toward Howard. "The book you used, that very spell-" She moved her eyes over to Tony briefly, gauging him before flicking back to Howard and staring, obviously annoyed, upset, and at a loss before continuing, "-has only been used once before. At least to my knowledge. What I know of it is simple: You come to the future, and you stay there. There is no return trip. Mr. Stark. To be blunt, you will not be going home. The man who we know of that used the exact spell you did is still here as well. He is living in San Francisco. Currently. In this time. And he will die in this time as well."

The room froze, no one even releasing a breath. Steve's hand went to his mouth, covering it in his shock, his other arm pulling Tony in closer.

"What-?" Howard began, but his voice caught. Nat had never heard him sound like that. With a despairing moan, his head snapped over to Tony. "I didn't- Oh fuck."

"Oh fuck, indeed," Clint _oh so helpfully_ added. She wanted to punch him. Now was not the time for his particular brand of comedy. But when she shot a glare on his direction, she saw he looked just as stricken as the rest of them.

Rhodey traded a loaded look with Thor, who was nearest to him, and resolutely moved behind the couch that Tony was seated on, offering silent solidarity with his best friend. Nat glanced at Clint, and seeing her own best friend looking afraid as well, she did the same, walking to stand near him. It did wonders to bolster her mood. She didn't know what she would do without them, any of them.

There was brief silence like the quiet between a lightning strike and its answering thunder, before Steve's dam burst, his fears and apprehensions too heavy to continue to carry. The weight of them dipped into his voice, forcing a hoarse, desperate tone, overwhelmed by too much rain. Too much water. Too much pain. It hurt to hear.

"Tony! Oh god, what about Tony? I just- I just got him back!" Steve turned to press his forehead against Tony's, his eyes filling with unshed tears. His left hand reached up, cupping Tony's cheek, his eyes not moving from the other's, which were wide and frightened. Tony had faced his mortality before, but not like this. If Howard being there meant he was never born, there wouldn't even be a legacy to leave behind. Not to mention the ramifications of a world without Stark technology.

Unable to keep any modicum of composure, Tony turned his head to Hill, his face painted with fear and shock, like a child's art project: All haphazard splatter of bold colors. "Please," his voice was hoarse with his panic, loud, uncontrolled. Wavering with the implications. "Hill, for the love of of fucking everything! Tell me there's a way! Tell me I'm not going to die? To-to not exist?"

The desperation in his voice was awful to be witness to, and Howard shot up from his seat, dropping to his knees in front of Tony. Nat's heart dropped; they were not okay. How did everything get so messed up? Howard was trembling, shoulders hunched and his face screwed up with his attempts to keep it together. "I'm so sorry, oh god, I am so sorry!" He grabbed at Tony's hands, pleading. Natasha expected Steve to protest to him invading their space in such a precarious moment, but he shifted, opening up their little circle, the hands not on Tony coming to rest on Howard's shoulder.

She turned toward Clint, for once letting every bit of anguish she felt show in her eyes. Fuck her reputation, _honestly._ She was scared. And she didn't want to hide it. She didn't want to soothe and comfort herself, she needed her friends. Needed to not lose _them._

Losing Tony was bad enough, but it might mean she'd lose Steve as well.

Clint swallowed and opened up one arm to her, an invitation for physical comfort that she took readily. He pulled her in close, kissing the top of her head. "We're not going to lose 'em." As usual, he was able to hone in on exactly what was bothering her -- that it wasn't just Tony, but the possibility of losing Steve as well, probably from sheer heartbreak if Tony vanishing didn't go unnoticed. "We'll figure something out," he whispered into her ear, his other arm coming up to complete the hug. "They're not escaping us that easily."

She appreciated the attempt to get her to smile, but the sinking feeling in her stomach wouldn't dissipate. Something bad was coming.

She just didn't know what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this was all supposed to be in one chapter, I take no responsibility for the semi-cliff hanger. It just worked for how I was breaking the chapter up into three separate ones. LMFAO I'm sorry! 
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> Final chapter will be up next Friday and the epilogue the Friday after that! Enjoy the rest of this wild ride!


	9. Room For One More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solutions and resolutions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the final chapter! This is it, save for the epilogue that will go up next week!
> 
> My apologies for getting this up a few hours late, my dumb ass got distracted! But I hope you all enjoyed the ride! All the thanks to MountainKestral for being the beta to beat all betas and my own personal comma wrangler, Lan for being an amazing cheer reader and beta (as well as an amazing friend!), Wilmakins for always being so supportive and the best cheer reader you can get (seriously, she is like a ball of positive energy!), and to all the readers who've kept with the story from start to finish, plus all the new readers who may have just discovered my little story.
> 
> Enjoy!

Manhattan was underwater.

That was the only logical reason for the rushing sounds in Howard's ears. It had to be.

It couldn't be anything else.

Because a part of him knew this, right? He knew from the moment he read that spell for the first time that there was no way back. It shouldn't be such a shock.

It _shouldn't._

From his position on his knees in front of Tony, he could look up into the impossibly large and frightened eyes of his son. A small twist to the right showed him Steve, his own blue eyes spilling tears down his cheeks.

All Howard wanted was to see his friend. It seemed so _simple._ Cast the spell and if Steve was found in the future, he'd be taken right to him. Consequences be damned. He wanted to know where Steve was, find him sooner. Worrying about things like getting back was insignificant. He'd find a way back. He always landed on his feet. He'd be fine.

He wasn't fine.

_He_ _wasn't fine._

Slowly, Howard dropped his head, his gaze falling to the floor in between Tony's feet. He was defeated, that's what he was. He was defeated, and he was underwater.

It was hard to breathe.

He was never going home. He was never going to see Maria again. They had only just begun, had only just started to get to know one another. He liked how feisty she could be, liked how her family was affluent but still held a charm that danced to a boisterous, vibrant beat. How she was still so soft despite the incredible energy of the rest of her _famiglia._ How she could be so poised, but if he caught her off guard she would _giggle-snort,_ and it was adorable. Their families loved the match. It was a power play, designed to up both family's stances, but it was also a match that _worked._ He was able to see a future with her.

Here, she was already dead.

_But he could see her in Tony_. In his eyes, in his playful demeanor. If he could keep Tony, maybe it wouldn't be so awful. He could make a life here. It wouldn't be the same; it would be the death of every dream he had. But if he had his son, at least then he could make new dreams.

And him being there, didn't that mean that Tony would never be abused?

_Because he will never exist in the first place._

Howard's breath hitched.

Seeing Steve, alive and vivacious. Passionate. _Alive._ It was wonderful, but at what cost? And could he really compare Steve's life and seeing him to destroying Tony's? Was that fair to even do? Whether or not he cast the spell, Steve was going to be found. He would be no help in that, and he was taking Steve from his love.

It all came back to Howard's wants. Not _needs_ and not even selfless intentions of helping. He had done all of this for a selfish desire to see his friend again.

Only to be responsible for Steve's upheaval and Tony's demise.

Howard knew -- at that moment -- that he was the biggest idiot in the world. But through the rushing in his ears and his wildly breathing heart, his brain worked. There had to be a way to salvage this somehow. A way to go back and stop him from ever casting that spell.

But was it right to mess with time more than he already had? Would that just complicate things and make it so much worse?

His entire life, Howard had always been sure of every move he made. His confidence never came with a price. He was Midas, and everything he touched turned to gold.

It only seemed fitting that it would backfire at some point. Like Midas, his own actions eventually damned him.

"Director Fury is in the Avengers elevator and on his way up. ETA 44 seconds."

Jarvis, his butler, his friend. The man who had warned him more than once to be careful where he stepped, dead and gone but immortalized in an artificial intelligence. Tony had a knack for bringing the past back to life. Howard lifted his head and found Tony's eyes locked on his. They would find a way.

Reaching out, he took Tony's hand in his own and squeezed it, smiling tightly before standing and turning to face his judgment. This Fury held the answers, and whether or not they were what Howard wanted to hear was irrelevant. He would take the punch, and he would find a way.

He always did.

When the elevator dinged, Howard straightened his back, stuck his chin out, and did what he could to raise his armor. No matter what, he would go down swinging. Proud.

The man who entered was tall, dark skinned, and handsome, and had an eye patch. Howard wasn't expecting that last part. Nor was he expecting the man's jaw to drop and a loud exclamation to cut through the terse silence on the room.

"Mother fucker!"

Someone snorted, but he didn't know who. Fury was walking up to him, looking just as intimidating as his name suggested; it pushed everything else from Howard's mind. He stood almost a full foot over his frame, and stared down at him with barely concealed wonder in the one eye Howard could see.

"Director Fury," Howard shakily struck his hand out, "I-- I am so sorry for the mess I caused. I take full responsibility."

Fury took his hand and shook it, firmly. It hurt, but Howard supposed he deserved that. He didn't wince. "A Howard Stark that actually takes responsibility for his actions. Never thought I'd see the day."

_That_ made Howard wince. "I hear I was a real bastard."

Bruce's soft voice interrupted them, "Director, can I get you anything to drink?"

The man actually smiled at Bruce, his one eye indulging. "Something strong. Make it a double." Nodding, Bruce moved to the bar, and Howard's eyes followed him before the clearing of a throat had him twitching back to the director.

"I really am sorry," he refused to break eye contact once it was established again, "but if you tell me Tony is going to bleep out of existence, I won't accept it. I will work until my death to keep him here."

"I know you would, Mr. Stark." Fury was actually chuckling. The sound was so absurd during such an awful moment that Howard took a step back, eyes going wide. Fury just clasped his shoulder. "Have a seat. There's a light at the end of this tunnel." All at once it felt like a balloon deflating after being blown up with too much air -- it has been too taut. The releasing of the air felt good. The entire room let out a breath, those words piercing the tense atmosphere.

"What do you mean?" Steve was looking up at him, a tentative hope dancing across his handsome features.

"I mean-" Fury sat on the couch and patted the seat next to him for Howard, "-that time travel is tricky. And what has happened has already happened."

Unwillingly, Howard sat. Standing felt better, but he was pretty sure his knees were going to give out. "I don't understand."

"It's not linear," Fury continued, "Time, that is." At their confused looks, he shrugged and sat back, explaining, "Howard cast a spell that sent him to the future. It split him in two. The other Howard stayed behind and lived out his life. While the new Howard-" he gestured to the Howard seated next to him, "moved forward in time."

"I thought it was a loop." Dropping his face into his hands, Howard sighed. "That I was split but would reconverge with the other Howard. And it would loop back and forth, back and forth."

"No. You can't loop through time, at least not with this spell." Frowning, Fury looked at Tony when he spoke next. "Instead it creates two of the same person, splitting them. One continues on track, and the other gets to travel. The problem occurs when you examine the split."

"So what happened had already happened?" Tony sat forward, steepling his fingers. "The Howard I knew was already the split Howard, even though this one didn't come to us yet?"

"Precisely." Taking a deep breath, Fury sat back. "This is the part that gets confusing, if you can believe it. And the part I was dreading. As soon as I found out about you," he glanced at Howard, "I knew. This won't be easy to accept."

"Jesus, Fury, just spill it!" Nine heads swivelled around to stare at Natasha. She threw her hands up. "This is hard enough! We are on the verge of losing a friend! Or are we not? We don't know because you're dancing around the damn subject!"

"I know you're all on edge, Agent Romanoff, so I'll let that slide." The right-hand corner of his lips was turned upwards in an amused smirk. "Believe it or not -- all of you, Tony included, have worked your way into my heart. And that's as much mushy bullshit as I'll allow. Fact is, I care a great deal about you." He addressed that last part at Tony, grinning at him. Tony smiled back hesitantly. "So excuse an old man for trying to ease you into it."

"I'm sorry," Natasha began, but Fury dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand.

"I get it."

"Please," Tony was tugging at his hair, and it made Howard's heart ache. It wasn't that long ago that he was standing in Howard's borrowed room doing the same as he came out to him. "Just tell me, am I safe? I know you said-- I mean I kinda get it but-- just put me out of my damn misery, shit!"

"You're not going anywhere, Tony."

And just like that, the rest of the balloon deflated.

"Thank God," Steve was saying, over and over, wrapping his arms around Tony and pulling his relieved face against his chest. "Oh, thank you God!"

Bruce finally returned with Fury's drink, his hands shaking just a little as he handed over the tumbler. "You okay, Banner?" Fury took the glass, looking up at Bruce worriedly. "No code green?"

Bruce laughed contritely at that. "No, no, the other guy is just relieved. Me too. It-- it's just a lot."

"There's more."

Bruce sank back into his seat. "More?"

"If we promise not to interrupt," Rhodey spoke up, his head cocked to the side, "will you just-" he gestured mildly, twirling his wrist, "-you know, just say it?"

Fury acquiesced. "The way the split works is that the second person -- the second Howard -- had to travel. We all know it's easier to travel light, right?" He waited until they each gave him a look of understanding before he continued. "It's the same with emotions. It's easier to travel light. They're not weighted like we understand it. It's a metaphorical sense, but just as important. Emotions like happiness, love, contentment… They're lighter. Easier to move. So the second Howard, he needed to be lighter, could only carry what he could, and the-" He fought for a word, tilting his head back and forth, _"better_ emotions carried easier. There was room for a few of the negative ones. They tacked on at the bottom. So the second Howard isn't a Stepford Wife, but he'll be happier in general because the positive emotions all came with him." Fury fell silent, letting the implications run through each of their minds.

Howard felt sick.

"So, what you're saying is that the good in me that traveled left the other me behind?" He glanced at Tony, "And the bad in me that-- that stayed." His eyes widened, fear overtaking them. "That stayed! Holy shit! _That_ stayed!" He head whipped back and forth between Tony, Steve, and Fury. "I took the good with me. So the me that didn't time travel, he's-- he's…"

"He's inpatient. Easy to anger. Irritable. Mean." Fury looked tired and old. "The you that was left behind is merely a shadow of you. He has none of the jovial, excited, pain the ass-ness we see here."

Clint hid a laugh behind his hand, "Jovial?" He was ignored, but Howard appreciated the lightness, even if he didn't feel any better for it.

Tony's voice was impossibly small when he spoke; he was still wrapped up in Steve's arms, his face half hidden. _"You_ didn't abuse me. Not this you. You're off the hook, Dad." It should have made Howard happy to hear, should have had him feeling relieved. It didn't. A thought was already forming in his mind when Fury started talking again.

"The you that was left behind," Fury's hand was warm on Howard's shoulder; Howard didn't remember him even moving to place it there, "being only a shadow of who you are, is the one who hurt his child. He had no positivity left. But -- and I am sorry to say this -- you're not off the hook. Had you never time traveled, you would have been a whole person."

"And I would have never abused my son."

Fury nodded solemnly. "It wasn't your hand, not in the literal sense -- it was the other Howard. But it's still the repercussion of your actions."

Howard was finding it hard to swallow. The rushing was back, and his face was hot. "I need-- _fuck_ \-- I need to be alone. I need a minute. I need -- _shit!_ \-- I need to process this! I need-" Howard reached for Tony, his arm lifting, wanting nothing more than to apologize and beg for forgiveness. Tony's hand shot out quickly, so ready to accept Howard even though it was _still_ all his fault. How damaged was he that he could forgive so easily?

Howard felt like scum. He dropped his hand and bolted from the room.

-

Tony let Howard flee. He understood all too well what guilt felt like. And if the thoughts running through his own brain were anything to go by, his father needed time to decompress and work through it. It was how he processed things himself. Howard needed time, and Tony would give it to him. They really were more alike than Tony had ever allowed himself to think. He would go after him, but first, he wanted information. Something to tell Howard that would hopefully ease his pain. Looking over at Fury, he asked, "So, what now?"

Fury was still watching the doorway through which Howard had disappeared. "Now we create a life for him here. The public already figured out who he is." At Tony's stunned look, Fury held up a hand. "It's crazy. I know it. You know it. Hell, the hot dog vendor down the block from here fucking knows it, but I say we go with that. If they didn't know, I might say differently. But let's work with the shit we already have. Introducing him as anything else will cause the public to call our bluff. With all the technology out there -- most of which you created, so you know what it's capable of -- there's no way we can keep this secret. And it will make the transition easier on everyone."

"You're saying roll with it." It was the exact opposite of what Tony would have thought Fury would say, but in a twisted way, it made sense. The public already saw him; they already figured out who he was. If they wanted to keep the conspiracy theorists quiet, it was better to be honest. Time travel. From a spell in a book that there is only one of. People would try to find out what spell, and they would go after the book. That was the biggest concern, but honestly? Tony was all for destroying it.

Aliens invaded and attacked NY; surely the public would find a time traveling Howard Stark easier to swallow?

"I'm saying-" Fury's face was open and honest, and Tony didn't know how he felt about that, "-that we control the outcome of the narrative. This is what we have to work with, we play the cards we're dealt."

"So we declare him alive?"

"Yes and no. I don't think we should attach this Howard to anything the other did, do you?" He could have been raising both eyebrows in question, but Tony couldn't tell. For all he saw, Fury had perfectly quirked his right eyebrow, and that was that.

"No, you're right." He shifted in Steve's arms, turning his body so he could lay his back against him. "You've been quiet," he said to Steve, looking up over his shoulder at him. "Care to weigh in?"

Steve sighed happily at Tony's weight against him, readjusting and wrapping his arms around his waist. "It's not sitting right with me, but Fury has a point."

"And the rest of you?"

They looked around at each other, each more confused than the next. It was Thor, who hadn't spoken at all and Tony had almost forgotten about, who was the one to finally speak up.

"I think a unique situation requires a unique solution. Creating a brand new identity may be easier in the short term, but it comes with its own complications." He stood, lifting Mjölnir and studying it. "It is easier for me, sometimes, to take my hammer and swing out into the enemies and obstacles we face, but that only aids for that particular moment. Taking the time to charge the energy and strike with lightning is much more effective. In some situations, anyway."

"Care to summarize, Plato?"

"He has already lost his home and everything he knows. Losing his identity as well will only hurt him more." Looking at Steve, Thor inclined his head, "When you were awakened, you felt lost and alone. How much worse would it have been if you were also stripped of your identity?"

Steve was quiet for a moment, contemplating. "Awful," he answered truthfully. "It would have been so much worse. But the public, knowing about time travel? Where do we draw the line? We'll know who he is -- it would just be on paper."

"They already know," Clint added. "The media storm if we lie will be so much worse."

"There's a chance it will die down enough if we're truthful. Howard could lead a definitively normal life after that." Standing, Bruce moved toward the kitchen. "I'm going to start dinner. I'm not sure how much more I can add here, and it's getting late."

Tony watched him go, his face drawn and pensive. "I think there'll be complications no matter what we choose."

"Tony's right," Steve said, hugging him a little tighter. "I guess the best solution is the one that is the least painful to Howard."

Tony stayed quiet for just a moment, weighing what he wanted to say. It didn't seem right to test Steve, but he needed to know. Tony always did have trouble with impulse control. "And you have no problem letting someone else decide?"

He expected Steve to frown at him or to look disappointed. He didn't expect Steve to throw his head back and laugh. "I deserve that."

Rhodey leaned over the back of the couch and gently rapped Tony on his head. "Anthony!" he warned.

Rightly contrite, Tony gave Steve a sheepish smile as he batted away Rhodey's hand. "Sorry, I have my own shit to work on too."

"We'll work on it, together, how's that?"

"All right, I'm done with this gushy shit," Fury announced, his tone peeved, and Tony pointedly ignored him to twist in Steve's arms and kiss him deeply. "I'm headed backto work on making Howard a legal citizen. Hill?" She nodded and moved to flank him, though she was smiling indulgently at Tony and Steve.

"I'm glad to see all's right with the weird world of the Avengers." She turned to Fury. "I have _the_ text. It's in the kitchen. I think a visit from SHIELD would help aid the New York Public Library in permanently relinquishing it to us."

"I can't believe it was there all along," Clint said, looking annoyed. "Nat and I have been all over looking for it."

"Right under everyone's noses," Hill responded with a shrug. "In my experience, that tends to be the case all too often."

Tony finally pulled from Steve's grasp, standing. "What are you going to do with it?"

Fury smirked, "Start a library in the Mariana Trench, I think. It's best that tome never sees the light of day again."

Sticking out his hand, Tony thanked Fury, "Keep me updated and let me know if you need any help getting things situated."

"Will do, Stark." Fury shook his hand. "try and stay out of trouble for once?"

"No promises, Director."

Turning to leave, Hill at his heels, Fury chuckled, "That's the answer I was afraid of."

As the elevator took them away, Tony heaved a deep sigh. "I should go find my father." Kissing Steve, he added, "Just give me fifteen with him?"

"Okay, angel." Steve pressed his lips to Tony's forehead, and Tony closed his eyes, savoring the moment. The tight coil that had been the entirety of his insides was unraveling with each passing moment. He had Steve back, and although his father couldn't go back to his time, it didn't damn Tony to vanishing. They had a solution to give Howard a decent life in the future, and although Tony was sad for the loss of Howard's past life, he was excited to finally have the ability to curate an actual relationship with the man that could be positive and loving.

Tony smiled brightly up at Steve, feeling his heart swell with the depth of his love for him. He was honestly the luckiest son of a bitch there was. Although, son of a bitch wasn't exactly true anymore, was it? For once, true contentment settled over him.

Rhodey was beaming as he clasped Tony on his back. "You good, bro?"

"Yeah, yeah, get out of here, Platypus," Tony turned to hug him. "Thank you," he spoke into the hug, "I'll call you later."

"You better. Love you, Tones."

Tony left him to say goodbye to the others and took the elevator when it came back up from the lobby. He stood leaning against the back wall, feeling serene and hopeful. "J? Where's Howard?" he asked as the doors closed. There was a nervous twitter in his stomach. It felt the start of something. He wasn't sure what, but it was good. It felt like the pieces within him were finally, finally clicking into place. He was going to be whole. It felt absolutely _amazing._ He just needed to assuage Howard, who was likely to be upset. He would do whatever it took to help make Howard happy there.

"Mr. Stark seems to have found his way into your workshop and is being accosted by Dum-E."

"Huh," Tony felt a smile ahead across his face, "finally made it to the workshop, I see. Is he making a mess?"

JARVIS answered him with a tone that represented clear amusement to Tony. "No, Sir, he was being very careful."

"Was? I'm not sure how I feel about that."

The elevator doors opened as JARVIS responded, "See for yourself." Tony stepped out, his trepidation slowing his steps as he peered around the corner to the glass walls of the workshop. A steady _thump thump_ could be heard, and Tony recognized the sound as one of Dum-E's tennis balls. Beyond the glass, Howard stood in the middle of the shop tossing the ball for Dum-E to fetch and bring back. The robot excitedly wheeling after it -- again and again -- retrieving it in his usual hazardous way. He had already knocked over one of Tony's tool kits, but Tony was nonplussed. Dum-E knocked that particular one over at least once a week, and he was honestly so used to cleaning it up, he could do it in his sleep.

As he approached the door, Dum-E took a corner too sharply and knocked a handful of blueprints over. Howard flailed and jogged to pick them up, but Tony knocked before he could place them back on the table. Entering, Tony gestured to the blueprints. "Don't worry about it. Dum-E is a disaster. I'm used to it."

"Tony!" Howard looked flustered and a bit panicked. Tony rushed to alleviate it.

"Really, it's totally fine. I haven't had as much time for him, so you've just made his month."

Howard set the blueprints down. "I just took the elevator and got off where the doors opened. This is your workshop?" He paused then grinned, a light flush rising up his neck. "I mean, of course it's your workshop. I'm sorry, I should have asked, but it looked… As soon as I walked in here it was like-- I don't know. I figured out it was yours, and I wanted to be somewhere that was close to you, but-"

Tony cut him off with a wave of his hand. "It's yours too until I can build you your own."

"My own?" Dum-E wheeled back, his claw rising and falling in excitement, the tennis ball in his grip. It took Howard a second to react to the robot, moving to step out of the way of the excited claw, surprise clearly evident in his movements.

Seeing Howard's shocked face and knowing how stubborn Dum-E could be, Tony took the ball and tossed it, hitting the far wall and sending Dum-E reeling after it. "Your own. And Fury is going to get paperwork for you to be an official citizen. I don't know if you heard, but the public knows who you are." Dum-E returned and Tony tossed the ball again, watching as it rolled into a corner and his robot frantically tried to grip it. "He thinks we should roll with it. You'll still be Howard Stark, and we'll find a place for you. Whatever you want."

Howard sighed, crossing his arms protectively. "Honestly? I want to go home."

"I know. But you're not alone here. I'll make you your own workshop, and we'll find you meaningful work, and obviously, you can live here." As happy as Tony felt, he knew Howard was going to need time to adjust, just like Steve had. "I'll get you your own apartment. Floor. Whatever. Other than the guest room, we're kinda out of space on the Avengers floor, but there's plenty to be had in the tower. You have a home here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah! Completely! And if you choose to not stay here, that's your decision. I'll buy you a house in Wisconsin if that's what you want."

Howard snorted, "I'll never be that desperate."

"I hear that they have great cheese."

That broke the tension, and Howard laughed. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass. I'd like to stay here. Besides, you should see what too much dairy does to my ass."

That has Tony snorting so loudly that he started coughing, giggling, and sucking in whatever breath he could in between. "I finally know who I got this lactose intolerance from, huh?"

"You too, huh?"

"If I take the pills, I'm good. But if I don't, Steve will make me use the bathroom on the 22nd floor since no one is there right now." Grinning, Tony set the tennis ball down and absentmindedly stroked Dum-E's claw. "Never thought I'd trade bathroom humor with my dad. Don't think Steve realizes what he's getting into. Crude is my middle name."

Howard chuckled, his shoulders easing. "The apple doesn't fall far, I see."

"I guess not. You gonna be okay?"

For several moments, Howard was quiet. He stepped up to Dum-E, petting him. The robot whirred and leaned into the touch.

"He likes you."

"It's a start. I have a lot to make up for."

Tony's face fell, "Hey, that wasn't you. You're the Howard I got to hear about from Steve when we first met." Hoping up onto one of the benches, Tony clasped his hands in front of him and angled his body so he could look at Howard straight on. "I'm pretty damn happy to meet that guy. I didn't know he actually existed."

"Tony," Howard sighed, dropping his hands, "it's still my fault."

"So what? You made a stupid choice. No reason to live the rest of your life under it. It happened. It's over." When Howard moved to walk away, Tony caught his arm. "I get to meet the real you now. And that-- that feels good. It feels right. So, cut the shit. You want to make up for what happened, well-" He spread his arms, indicating not only him but the tower, Steve, the other Avengers… "-Here's your chance."

"How can you forgive me so easily?"

Tony shrugged, both arms up with a dramatic flair of unknowing. "Beats me! I've been told that for a genius, I can be a real fucking idiot!"

Howard cracked a smile and shook his head. "You also have the worst timing."

"All part of my charm." He flashed Howard his brightest smile. "I'm infuriating. Just ask Director Fury. Hey!" He pointed to Dum-E, changing the subject to something lighter. "How did you end up getting dragged into playing fetch with Dum-E anyway?" Not that Tony could blame him. His robots were the best. And if Dum-E already had Howard wrapped around his claw…

"I entered and he came up to me. I was fascinated." Howard shrugged sheepishly. "I wanted to see how he worked, you know, trying to keep my mind off of what happened." Tony nodded in understanding, staying quiet for once so Howard could finish. "And he shoved the tennis ball into my face. Imagine my confusion. JARVIS helped out, said Dum-E really likes fetch and he's basically a robotic dog. Also, Dum-E? Really? That's what you name him?"

"Just wait till you get to know him," Tony whispered, leaning toward Howard like Dum-E couldn't hear, "You'll understand soon enough."

"I like him." Retrieving the tennis ball, Howard waved it in front of Dum-E. "Wanna go again, little 'bot?"

Tony scoffed, amused. "Is that even a question? He'll play fetch until his battery runs out. You didn't answer my question before."

Throwing the ball, Howard answered, "What question is that?" He chuckled as Dum-E scurried after it.

"Are you okay?"

Howard sent him a contemplative expression. "Not yet."

"We can work with that. Talk to Steve. He knows what you're feeling. He crashed a plane and woke up seventy years later."

Taking the ball from Dum-E's outstretched claw, Howard tossed it from one hand to the other before flinging it across the room. "Steve's okay with me now?"

"Definitely. And I think he's happy to have his friend back. You're a connection to his past. And he's one to yours." Sliding off the work bench, Tony moved to stand next to Howard, bumping his shoulder, and mocked a tap dance, slapping his feet against the floor. _"Always look on the bright side of life!"_ he sang, a goofy grin on his face.

"What the fuck, Anthony?" But Howard was laughing as he took the ball from the robot again.

Tony twirled, completing his little off beat dance. "I'm an eccentric bisexual genius. Theatrics and musicals do it for me."

"Do they really?"

The sound Tony made was somehow both a snort and a laugh. _"No._ Musical theater is Steve's thing. I hear he likes trained monkeys."

That got Howard laughing again. "I've got some stories for you about your super soldier boyfriend." He motioned to Dum-E after he threw the ball. "Does he do any other tricks?"

"Sometimes he's helpful."

"Can I have him?"

Tony gasped, _"No!_ Make your own mechanical abomination. This one's mine!"

"Worth a shot." Howard relented with an exaggerated sigh. "So, what floor will you give me? And don't say 22. I know what happens on that floor now!"

Tony threw his head back and howled, delighted at the crassness he was able to exchange with his father. It felt so _normal._ "I won't subject you to that. Maybe something closer to us up here if you want?"

A real, true smile spread across Howard's face. "I'd like that."

"Or," Tony began, tapping his chin, "maybe there's room on the Avengers floor after all." He smirked at Howard, leering, just a little. "I think it's about time I ask my boyfriend to move in."

-

Steve waited twenty minutes instead of the asked for fifteen until he took the elevator down to the workshop, always thankful for JARVIS' insight in taking him where he needed to go. When he entered through the doors, it was to see Howard and Tony giggling over something, both leaning against one of the tables and trying to get a hold of their laughter. It struck him quite suddenly how happy he was to witness it. He had been so sure of his hatred of Howard. The feelings from the day Rhodey had come over, and Steve made tea and Tony called him Captain United Kingdom had boiled over until there was nothing left in the pot except for the blackened, burned bits. Steve had tried so hard to not show his contempt, but once the emotions became clear to him, it was nearly impossible for him to disguise them.

It was the first time they had fought over everything that was happening.

He had felt so positive that he was right, so incredibly certain that everything he was feeling was _justified._ All he wanted to do was protect Tony. To help him stay safe and happy and perfectly okay.

It was the first of many mistakes concerning the entirety of this… Well. Debacle seemed the only fitting term. And he was still somewhat confused, but it was becoming clearer and clearer with each moment, each dive back into every minute of the previous two weeks.

Steve _was_ right. But he was also so, _so_ wrong.

It all came down to the separation between the different Howards he had encountered. He had been treating the situation as if there were three of them: The Howard he had known in World War II, the Howard that had raised Tony, and this one. Back when he had first started dating Tony and he had first separated the Howard of the 40's from the one Tony knew, it was simpler. And it was the closest to what Steve had to do now that they had all the answers they needed to move forward.

There really were two Howards, and the one next to Tony _was_ the one he had known back when Steve was with the Howling Commandos.

He was right to hate the Howard that raised Tony.

But not right to hate this one.

Though he understood that this Howard was directly involved with creating the Howard that had abused Tony, it wasn't his intention. That right there went further than anything else. This Howard only wanted to help and heal his son, that he did it with his own dramatic flair was not lost on Steve, but somehow very appreciated. It felt good to meet this Howard again.

To finally have a piece of his past with him in the future. _Someone who was there._

It was like his two worlds were finally connecting, the seventy year gap closing. He felt like a worn pair of much loved jeans, finally being patched after sitting at the bottom of a drawer for months.

Being with Tony and living and serving with the Avengers had done wonders to Steve's psyche. It had healed the biggest holes inside of him, but something had still been missing: A way to reach back to his past and relive it through memories. With the Avengers he could only go back so far. Back to when they all first met. And it was nice reliving their moments together, trading stories even though they had all been present. Reminiscing. But each of the Avengers had someone else in their lives to reach further back with. Tony had Rhodey, Natasha and Clint had each other…

Steve had no one. His life had essentially begun only a few years prior. He had no one to talk about his youth with, because they were all dead. He had Peggy, sometimes, when she was lucid enough to do so. But those times were so few, she may as well have been gone. And now that she was…

But Howard was _there._

_His_ Howard. The crazy lunatic who flew into war zones and smoked expensive cigars, who made jokes at inappropriate times, and just wanted to do the right thing while also having a grand adventure.

And Howard would need him to do the same.

Taking a deep breath, Steve walked slowly, but on steady feet into the room, coming to stand near the father and son. "It's good to see you laughing," he quietly spoke to Tony, a small smile emerging from his lips. He felt no need to assert himself or prove himself, or do anything other than say his observation. It was a wonderful feeling to be on such stable ground. He knew what he needed, what Tony needed, and what Howard needed. And he knew how to give it without forcing it on either of them. They were, _finally,_ on the same page.

"It's good to _be_ laughing," Tony said honestly. He motioned to Howard, pushing off the table, "I'll let you two do the talky thing. I had mine." He stepped up to Steve and slid a hand around his waist, pulling him close and tilting his head up to kiss him. "I'll meet you back upstairs?"

"You bet," Steve brought his hand up to cup the back of Tony's head, kissing him again, deeper this time, trying to pour all the confidence and contentment he felt into it. When he pulled back, Tony beamed at him.

"I'll see you two kiddies later." Another peck of their lips and Tony was gone, jogging out the door and to the elevator.

Steve gestured to the couch in the corner. "Want to sit?"

Howard nodded and followed him to the couch, sitting and leaning back into the corner of it. "If I may-" he began, his face open and earnest, "I know my fault in this. I really am so sorry. I had no right-"

Steve felt his hand up. "You couldn't have predicted this."

"Maybe not," Howard continued, "but I had an inkling. I knew there was no sure way back. I just-" He faltered, lifting one shoulder helplessly and looking down, "I kept thinking it would all work out because it always did. No matter what I've done, I've always managed to salvage it. I always landed on my feet. I wasn't prepared to _not_ to have something work out in my favor."

Steve thought for a moment, contemplating how to answer. Howard was right, of course. He was at fault for what happened, but his intentions were in no way malicious. He didn't set out to hurt anyone. He had just wanted to see his friend. "I think it's safe to say that while you did start this, you weren't looking to cause any trouble."

"Not at all. I just-" Howard sighed, looking more vulnerable than Steve had ever seen him. "I missed my friend."

"I missed you too."

Howard's head shot up, surprise painted across his handsome features. "You did?"

Steve nodded solemnly, "I did. And I admit: It was really hard at first -- when I first started dating Tony -- to accept what I thought you had turned into. I had to separate it in my mind. And I have to do that now as well. You are not the man who raised Tony. _You_ couldn't hurt him anymore than you could hurt yourself. You're brass, and impulsive, and you definitely leap before you look." Howard chuckled at that. "But that's why I liked you in the first place. You're brilliant. Not as smart as Tony, sorry-"

Howard snorted, "Yeah, that much I know!"

"-But you are brilliant. And you had this sense of adventure and the want to do the right thing but also have fun, and it was infectious. You were my friend. And you _are_ my friend. Now. If you can forgive me for how I've treated you since you came here."

Howard waved his hand, dismissing the past. "Already forgiven. You had every right to hate me. What the other me did was unforgivable. _I_ hate him. Probably more than you do, because he's still a part of me. As much as I don't want to admit that. He's all the bad within me."

Steve took a minute to answer, gathering his thoughts and trying to place them in some sort of cohesive order. He sat back, scratching his shoulder, head tilted as he studied the man seated next to him. "I think-" he began slowly, "-that we all have that darkness inside of us. It's just we usually have enough good to balance it out. When you came forward in time, you took that balance away. So _that_ Howard, well-" he paused, scrunching his face with how badly he was explaining this, "-he didn't have the good in you to offset the bad. We're all capable of doing awful things. Even me," he laughed, a bit of self-recrimination leaking through the sound. "I'm physically considered perfect, I get that. But that never changed who I am inside. I made -- _make_ \-- a lot of mistakes. We just have to do what we can to rectify them."

"I feel more optimistic than I think I normally would, especially about what you're saying."

"Probably because only a little bit of bad came with you."

Howard groaned. "Somehow that's not comforting. Not that there's still some negative bull in me, but that it's mostly sunny, positive crap." He looked at Steve sheepishly. "Sometimes, you need a bad mood to feel better."

Steve couldn't help but agree. "You've shown a bit of your temper here. I think it's balanced out enough it won't affect you too much. I'm not going to pretend to know everything about this." He shrugged, holding his hands out palms up, offering Howard everything he had. "But maybe it evens out. The bad in you that stayed wasn't able to balance back out because those emotions are so heavy. But with the positive ones, maybe you'll be able to shift back into something more familiar in the future."

"That's a nice thought." Puffing his lips out, Howard blew air through them and sat forward. "Anyway, I am sorry for causing this mess and any issues it created between you and Tony."

Steve shook his head, "All in the past. If anything, you've helped to make us stronger. We both had a lot to learn."

"You two seem to have a really good relationship."

"We do. And it's better now. We both had to learn to let go of some control. Me especially. But enough about me and Tony, there's plenty of time to discuss the finer nuances of my relationship with your son in the future," Steve teased, grinning at Howard. "I'd like to discuss how we can help each other."

Howard looked up and away, his face pensive. "And how's that?"

"We have a lot in common. We both skipped a couple of decades." Pulling his leg underneath him, Steve sat up, excited to share his thoughts. "It was _so_ hard at first for me, because Peggy was still alive but she had Alzheimer's, and it meant things were always rough when I went to see her. And she had lived a full life in my absence, you know?" Howard nodded, understanding dawning on his face. "But you? You are in the same predicament as me. I… I _miss_ my friends from back in the war. I miss Bucky and the rest of the Commandos. I missed you and Peggy and everything. And I really didn't have anyone to talk to about it who was there or understood what I had gone through."

Looking contemplative, Howard leaned his elbow on the back of the couch and rested his head on his hand. "But I was there. And though we -- uhh -- traveled differently, both of us ended up in the future."

"Exactly. I was all over the place at first. Grasping at anything that gave me some semblance of feeling normal and okay. I went on a road trip. I visited Peggy, I kept searching and searching for something to make sense. It was only when I started to accept and build a new life that things settled down. And you? You're going to feel the same. But this time-- this time the traveler isn't alone. I want to help you, Howard. I want to help you adjust. If you'll have me, that is."

"I-" Was Howard choking up? His eyes were becoming suspiciously red rimmed. "I would really appreciate that. I'm… I'm scared, Steve. Petrified. And it sounds so fucking stupid, but I don't want Tony to know."

Steve sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and loosely clasping his hands together. He looked over at Howard, fully getting why Howard would feel that way but knowing he needed to stop Howard from making the same mistakes he had. "Tony is a lot more vulnerable than he lets anyone see, but not much more than anyone else. I know you want to protect him. He has that effect on people. But, Howard -- and I can't stress this enough -- he doesn't need to be shielded from everything. Take it from someone who made that mistake. He'll understand. I think he already knows you're afraid, and he's going to do what he can to alleviate that."

Sighing, Howard conceded, "That's a fair point. I'll-I'll talk to him." He dropped his chin to his chest. "I promise."

"Good. Now, for what I can do to help." Steve stood, offering his hand to help Howard stand. "This is a unique situation. But it overlaps my own." Howard took his hand and let Steve pull him up. Steve clapped him on the back. "Talk to me -- whatever you need. Do you want to rant about how confusing this time is? I'm here. Do you want to commiserate on what you lost? I'm here. Want to reminisce?" Steve held his arms out, index fingers pointed in to himself. "Because I guarantee you, I'll need the same. Especially now that I have someone here who's been through it. I think we can help each other."

Howard's head tilted to the side, a small amount of confusion growing on his face. "I thought you said you were okay now?"

"Sure, but that doesn't mean it doesn't get to me sometimes. So let's help each other."

"Think Tony will be okay with us teaming up?" Howard laughed, softly at first, but growing more confident. "You and me? We're trouble together. I'm sure Peggy had some stories."

Steve grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "She definitely did. And she was a part of them. Besides, I'm sure you and Tony will gang up on me often enough." Which made his face go immediately red. "I didn't mean it like that!" he exclaimed, his face horrified as Howard's started laughing so hard he was bent over.

"You!" Howard could barely get the words out, "You are going to be so much fun to tease."

Dropping his head in his hands, Steve groaned. "I'm so screwed." His head whipped up, and he pointed at Howard who was laughing harder if it was at all possible. "No! Don't! I didn't mean it like that either!" But he was giggling himself, though his face was flushing badly. "Oh, crap."

It was Howard's turn to clap him on the back. "Come on, I need to see your face as I tell my son what you just said."

"Oh good, give Tony more ammunition against me." He rubbed the side of his face, still chuckling as they exited the workshop. "If you team up with Nat and Clint, we're all gonna be in trouble," he mumbled to himself more than anything else.

"Maybe Clint will teach me how you shoot an arrow. Or! That cool, silent, creepy sneaking thing Nat knows how to do so well!" As the elevator doors closed, Howard turned to Steve, a sly smile on his face. "Hey! You think Tony will let me fly the suit?"

"Howard!"

"Hah! That's not a no!"

Steve, exasperated but wholly amused, just shot Howard a look that clearly said it was never going to happen. "You're gonna be trouble, aren't you?"

Howard rolled his shoulders back, proud. "Absolutely."

In the kitchen, Bruce was pulling plates from the cabinet, he looked over his shoulder as they came in. "Dinner's done. I kept it simple. Just a quick stir fry. Set the table?" He held out a stack of plates, wiggling then gently. It felt so _normal_ that it almost took Steve for a trip. After everything that had transpired, it was bizarre to think that things could settle down again, but there they were.

Nat and Thor were squabbling over what music to play while they ate, Clint was sneaking pieces of chicken from the aluminium foil covered dishes that Bruce had set in the middle of the table, and Tony was counting forks from the drawer.

Steve took the plates, grinning at Bruce, "Sure thing." He handed a few to Howard, jerking his head to the dining room just beyond the door. "Gotta put you to work now." Howard graciously took the plates, looking around curiously. Steve knew that look. It was the same he had when the tower went from a place he visited to his home. "It'll get easier," he spoke sotto voce, so only Howard could hear him. The others were barely concealing their own curious looks at Howard.

"Are you two _already_ conspiring against me?" Tony called out as he stalked past them, brandishing the forks in one hand as a culinary weapon. "I won't stand for this!"

Steve winked at Howard. "Maybe!" he chirped, covering up Howard's unease. Reaching out, he pinched Tony's butt, earning him an undignified squawk and effectively moving the room's attention from Howard to Tony.

"Excuse you, sir! Hands off the merchandise!"

He kissed Tony's head, moving past him to set the plates down. There were four in his hand, three in Howard's. The amount adjusted to welcome their new member, the seventh plate set down in front of the seventh chair that fit comfortably between the other six.

There was, after all, plenty of room for one more.

❤💙

_"There are no great men, only ordinary men, who have met extraordinary challenges." -William Halsey_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly hope this story has brought as much joy to you as it has to me! See you next week with the epilogue!
> 
> Please comment down below with what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Not trying to beg but I kind of am. Please, please comment if you liked this!


End file.
